Destination Unknown
by trololo4ever
Summary: AU CoS,Year 4. Harry's going through some bizarre things this year. On Halloween, he and one other each receive packages that bring to light some startling discoveries. Read as they struggle to put aside their differences and come to terms with the facts.
1. Happy Birthday

Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own Harry Potter. The extraordinary J.K. Rowling does... word up. Yeah, I don't know what that means...

_"Destination Unknown"_

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday

* * *

"POTTER!"

_'That's the way to be woken up on your birthday,' _Harry thought grimly, rubbing his eyes. Feeling around the top of his nightstand, he found his round, black glasses and slid them on.

"Potter! Get out here!"

Harry groaned as he rolled onto his back, wincing when his sunburned skin touched his old, scratchy bed sheets.

"You've got 'til I count to three, boy!"

Quickly as he could, the now fourteen-year-old sat up, trying to ignore the burning pain in his sore, lobster-red back. _'Just had to make me weed the garden on the hottest, brightest day of the summer, did you, Uncle Vernon?'_

"One..."

The groggy, black-haired boy rose to his feet and crossed over to his dresser, grabbing a huge green shirt out of the top drawer. Then, he crouched down and snatched up his trainers.

"Bloody freak... two!"

Looking down, Harry decided that the brown trousers he had worn to bed the night before were in decent enough condition for him to wear again today.

"Three! Potter, you'd better your sorry arse out here this instant It's after ten o'clock!!"

Practically leaping to his bedroom door, Harry called, "Coming, Uncle Vernon!" After hastily tightening his long belt, he opened the door, cradling his shirt and shoes to his chest.

The sight that met Harry's emerald-green eyes was the purple face of his beefy lump of an uncle. "What the bloody hell took you so long, boy?"

"I...I overslept, sorr-"

"Well, what are you waiting on? Stop fannying about and get ready to leave!"

Harry's brows furrowed. "Leave? Where are we going?"

Vernon pursed his lips behind his bushy mustache and shook his head. "Boy's daft as a brush, I swear..."

Biting the inside of his cheek, hard, Harry waited for an answer.

"To town, boy! Seriously, don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

Sighing, Vernon said, "Your Aunt and I promised Dudley a trip out to the city. We'll be going to the matinee and I think the mall, amongst other places, of course."

"Oh... so I'm staying with Mrs. Figg, then?" Harry asked expectantly, preparing to head to the washroom just down the hall.

"No, Mrs. Figg is... busy today. The old grimalkin can't watch you. I would leave you here, but your Aunt Petunia doesn't trust you alone here with her new china-"

"I'm going to the matinee?" the teen asked excitedly. Reluctantly, Vernon Dursley nodded.

"Now, get ready!"

Hiding the grin on his face from his uncle, Harry ran to the washroom. Maybe this birthday wouldn't be so bad after all.

After shutting the door, Harry washed his face and cleaned his teeth. He then took off his too-large nightshirt and cursed softly when he brushed his sensitive back. Turning his back to the mirror, Harry craned his neck round to peer at his reflection and wrinkled his nose at what he saw. Bright, cherry-red skin. Taking a chance, he reached one arm behind him and pressed his thumb against the small of his back and hissed. Frowning, he watched the spot fade to white for a second before turning to the same red color.

"Fascinating, that," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Turning round, he quietly opened the medicine cabinet and rummaged through. His aunt usually kept a few lotions and sunscreens in there.

"There you are," Harry said, removing the red tube from the bottom shelf. Flipping the cap up with his thumb, he held out his palm and squeezed. He sighed when nothing came out. Snapping the cap down, he shook the tube until he was satisfied and tried again. Successfully this time.

Clumsily, Harry applied the white cream to his burning back, which proved to be extremely difficult. When he was finished, he rinsed and dried his hands.

All of a sudden, a sharp pain shot through his fingers. Harry let out a yelp. After realizing what he'd just done, a pink tinge painted his cheeks.

"Wait, that was the right stuff, wasn't it?" he asked himself, alarmed. He checked the tube's label again. Planet Beach Sunscreen Lotion, it read. So... he had used the correct cream...

Then why did his hands hurt so much?!

"Ow! What the bloody hel-" Harry froze, eyes wide. "_Bloody hell_!"

The boy watched in amazement as his fingers grew several centimeters longer, right before his eyes!

"Is this magic? I've never actually seen myself grow... is that normal? Bloody hell!"

Apparently, this magic, puberty, whatever the hell it was, was not quite finished. Gaping like a fish out of water, he saw, and felt, his hands become a bit wider.

"God, I hope I haven't contracted some bizarre disease!"

Suddenly, the prickly pain disappeared, and his pale hands stopped growing. Still startled, Harry did a quick scan of the rest of his body. Everything seemed normal... well, except maybe... actually, now that he thought of it, his hair did seem more cooperative lately... and was that red he saw? A light tint of auburn had seemed to have crept onto his bangs.

"Well, Mum _did_ have auburn hair," Harry reminded himself.

But, say... were his eyebrows just slightly lighter, maybe with a bit more of an arch to them? And his face appeared to be a bit more angular, with sharper features!

"I... umm... well, I am, ah, getting older. Yeah, that's all... nothing's wrong with me. Absolutely nothing."

Yes, yes... this was completely, perfectly fine. Nothing abnormal about it whatsoever! He was just getting older, was all.

Or so he desperately hoped! He was already strange enough as it was.

Sighing, Harry gently pulled his clean shirt on, tied his white trainers up tightly, and combed his strangely tidier hair.

"Potter! Are you still in there?" his uncle demanded on the other side of the door.

"Yes, sir! I'm hurrying."

"You'd better, boy. You had better not find a way to ruin Dudley's day! None of your-"

"Freakishness, yes, Uncle Vernon. I'm well aware. No magic. None. None at all."

"Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Harry replied sweetly, opening the door. Slowly, he followed his graying-haired uncle down the hallway and padded downstairs to the sitting room, where Petunia and Dudley were impatiently waiting.

"Are we going now, Dad? I'm sick of waiting!" Dudley complained loudly. His beady eyes narrowed when he saw his cousin closely behind his father. "What is _he_ doing here? Wait, wait, Dad? Potter's not coming with us, is he?"

"Well, actually, Duddykins..."

"Mrs. Figg can't watch him today, you see, Dudders, and we don't trust him around your mother's brand new china, so we really don't have much of a choice," Vernon explained, gently as he could.

"But-"

"No, Dudders. He must come with us. Today, anyway."

Dudley groaned over-dramatically. When Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren't looking, he glared at his green-eyed cousin. Harry shrugged, and gave a cheeky grin. It was his fourteenth birthday and he was going to the theater. He was going to make this his best birthday yet, no matter what the Dursleys did to make it otherwise.

* * *

By five in the afternoon, Harry and the Dursleys had watched two films and were browsing shops in the city. Together the four strolled (or waddled rather, in Dudley and Vernon's case) down High Street.

"Those were the worst movies ever!" Dudley declared, kicking an empty pop can ahead and then crushing it with his huge feet.

"No, they weren't," Harry argued, several paces behind his relatives. "Alright, so the first one wasn't the best, but the second one, it was brilliant! Made you really think." _'No wonder the three of them hated it,' _the birthday boy thought to himself. A snort almost escaped him, but he caught himself in time and settled for a wide smile.

Vernon looked back at his nephew and saw that the boy was smiling. "What the bloody hell are you so happy about?" he asked, suspicious.

Harry only shrugged, his hands behind his back, and continued walking.

Meanwhile, Dudley's stomach had growled a very loud growl. It was almost as if a lion had roared, Harry imagined, smirking. Two teenaged girls who passed by heard the ferocious growl, causing their already bug-like eyes to bulge further out of their sockets. The two sped up their pace and quickly passed by.

"Mum, I'm _starving_," moaned his fat cousin.

"Oh, Dudders! Poor child, don't worry," Petunia assured her son, patting his back. "Mummy'll get you something to eat. Vernon?"

"Hmm... oh! Yes, dear?"

"Can we hurry and chose a restaurant? Dudley is utterly famished."

"Oh, yes, of course! My strong Dudder's needs keep building up that strength! Keep strong and fit like his old dad."

_'I swear my tongue's bleeding,_' Harry thought, as he tried desperately not to laugh. His smile turned into a toothy grin. _'Vernon and Dudley Dursley, in shape and fit?' _Disguising it as a bothersome itch on his upper lip, he hurriedly put his hand over his mouth, just only stopping himself from falling to the sidewalk in laughter.

Totally oblivious of their nephew's hysterics, Vernon pointed a chubby finger to a small, red building. "Ah, see there's a little... err... Chinese place, right there!"

"But, Dad, I don't want Chinese! It's gross," Dudley whined. Petunia stroked his short hair and searched for the perfect place for her boy.

"How about... umm... Mexican tonight? There's a place just 'round the block," she told him.

"I can't stand that spicy stuff, Mum! You know that."

Nodding, Harry remembered the last time they had eaten at that restaurant. Dudley's lips had swollen up to about triple their normal size and had become a scarlet color. Vernon had immediately suggested that Harry had slipped something into Dudley's food. He hadn't though, but Vernon didn't believe him and sent him up to his bedroom. Harry was only sad because he wasn't able to his cousin's puffy face anymore. A photo would've been excellent blackmail...

Sighing, Harry gazed at all of the little stores and shops. The street wasn't very crowded, not too many people were about. He didn't know why, though. Rarely did he get out of the Dursley's house. Going into the city was always an exciting experience for him.

Not too much later, Harry's stomach growled, but thankfully the Dursleys were unable to hear it, for they were _still _trying to get Dudley to choose where he wanted to eat. Finally, almost ten minutes later, a decision had been made.

"Oh! I know what I want!" Dudley exclaimed.

_'Oh my God, I can't believe it.' _Harry raised his eyebrows and waited expectedly.

"Yes, Dudley?" Petunia prodded, her faced filled with anticipation.

"I want fish and chips!"

_'Fish and chips? Practically ten minutes and he came up with fish and chips?' _

"All right, then, Dudders. There's a place right there. Let's go," Vernon said, patting Dudley's wide shoulders.

The Three Stooges, as Harry had deemed the Dursley's when he was nine, speedily picked up their pace and crossed the street. The Boy-Who-Lived was left to wait for a double-decker bus to pass by and almost lost sight of them, but sprinted across the road as soon as the bus had passed, easily catching them up.

"Took you long enough, Potter! Come on!"

"Making poor Dudley wait!"

Again, the trio left the green-eyed teen behind, going forward and entering a small restaurant. Hoping to the Gods that this was the worst his night would be, Harry followed, wishing the school year would come sooner.

* * *

"Vernon, I told you not to drink so much," Petunia reprimanded her husband when they got home that night. She had to help steady him all the way to their bedroom, where he promptly collapsed on their huge, comfortable bed, passing out from exhaustion and way too much to drink.

_'He's utterly bladdered! He never usually gets drunk,' _Harry thought as he sat on his bed, looking through his homework. He grimaced when he saw that he had yet to complete his essay for Potions. "Why do I need to know how to brew a...umm..." Harry stole a glance at his potions text. "-- hair-raising potion? Ugh, rat tails are in it! Gross. No wonder Snape likes it, probably." Scrunching up his nose, he closed the book and put it back in his trunk. "I think I'll work on that later."

Harry jumped when he heard a tap on his window. Craning his neck, he saw that it was Ron's new owl, Pig.

Quietly, he opened his window and allowed the clumsy bird entrance. After landing on his head, Pig righted himself and waited up on the edge of Harry's nightstand.

After a few moments of wrestling with the owl, Harry was finally able to untie Ron's letter and a small package from it's leg.

_'Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! How's it going, mate? I hope the Dursleys are treating you right. If not, tell me and I'll get Fred and George to send you some gags. They've been working on this one potion that you slip into someone's drink. After even the tiniest sip, it'll make your tongue swell up to three times its normal size! Wicked, isn't it? Other than that, nothing much is happening here. Hermione mailed me the other day, asked if I had finished my school work. I'm sure that she threw a right wobbly when I told her no. _

_Anyway, hope you're enjoying your birthday. I know my gift isn't much, but I think you'll like it. Write me back soon! _

_All the best,_

_Ron.' _

A smile on his face, Harry picked up Ron's gift and ripped the wrapping paper from it. It revealed a poster of his favorite Quidditch team, Puddlemere United. Harry was sure that Ron probably had felt rather awkward buying it, considering he himself was a Chudley Cannons fan.

Harry wrote back his thank-you letter and sent Pig off quickly. He'd had enough of the owl knocking his belongings down.

Within a matter of minutes, Harry had received three more packages. One was from Hermione, who had sent him an eagle-feather quill, some black ink, and some sugar-free sweets. Hagrid had, of course, sent him some of his yearly rock cakes. Then, Harry was rather surprised to discover that Neville had sent him a book about Quidditch strategies and some pumpkin pasties.

"Potter!"

Harry gave a start at hearing Aunt Petunia's shrill from the other side of his locked up door.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

"I see that your light is still on. You had better switch it off and get to bed! Don't make me get your uncle!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

After a moment, Harry saw the hallway light under his bedroom door disappear, followed by his vulture-faced aunt's footsteps going down to her and Vernon's room.

Bending down, the birthday boy untied the knot in his trainers and kicked them off. Briskly, he removed his socks and changed into his pajamas (too-large flannel bottoms with an equally too-large top, both an ugly faded beige).

Once he had made sure that Hedwig was comfortable and fed, he switched off his own light and made his way back to his bed. Gently, he lay down on his side, wishing that his mattress was not so old and lumpy.

"'Night, Hedwig," he whispered, pulling his blanket atop of him and putting his arm underneath his pillow.

This night, Harry James Potter fell asleep dreaming of Hogwarts and his friends, not of Voldemort and his minions.

His fourteenth birthday had proven to be a great one after all.

* * *

A/N: Well, how is it so far? Not much happened, but it'll get interesting soon, I promise. Please do be kind and leave a review. Thanks for reading! 


	2. One Step Beyond

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

_"Destination Unknown"_

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 2: One Step Beyond

* * *

The next two days passed... slowly. Far _too_ slowly for Harry. Petunia shrieked and demanded, Dudley screamed and whined, and Vernon turned purple and came home drunk. Petunia had become quite concerned over her beady-eyed husband's drinking. She always asked why his drinking had escalated to a whole another level and Vernon's answer was always the same.

"I've told you, Pet. Grunnings' hasn't been doing too well lately. Not nearly as much business as we used to have. It's just stress."

"Still, Vernon, this can't possibly be good for your health. Remember your father's drinking problem? Caused him liver failure, did it not?"

"Don't be silly, Petunia. I'm nowhere near being as heavy a drinker as my father was."

"I'm just concerned, Vernon. I think you should stay away from that pub for awhile."

Sighing, Vernon went back to watching his favorite television program.

"Vernon? Please, just promise that you'll try," Petunia asked, eyes filled with worry.

From outside, Harry strained his ears as he listened through the open parlor window. He heard his uncle give an irritated grunt. Then, his aunt sighed and picked the newspaper up.

Shaking his head, the fourteen-year-old wizard kneeled in front of his aunt's flower garden and tilted the half-full watering tin, watching as the cool water trickled out of it. Most of the flowers were alive and colorful, but there were a few in the back and on the far right that didn't appear to be doing so well. In fact, Harry realized, from the looks of it, they seemed to have been stepped on. The stems were broken and falling toward the moist, wet soil. A few of their petals had been ripped as well. Just as Harry began to wonder just who had killed the flowers he had worked so hard to keep alive all summer, a football rolled behind him. He set the watering tin down, about to pick the ball up, when seemingly out of nowhere, Dudley's old friend, Piers, jogged over to him. Harry scowled when Piers stepped in the flowerbed. Smirking, the boy got his foot under the ball and kicked it up into his open hands, clutching it to his chest.

"Hey, Potter. Nice garden you have there. Work hard on it, don't you?"

"Yeah, thanks for adding that nice touch to it. Everyone on those landscaping programs agree that dead flowers add significantly to a garden's beauty. I see you've done a brilliant job on this one."

Rolling his eyes and sneering, Piers turned around and passed the football to Dudley, who missed it and ran over to Mrs. Figg's front porch to retrieve it.

Growling, Harry went back to the flowers. He had worked all summer on it! Aunt Petunia would be beside herself!

Suddenly, Piers football hit the back of Harry's head.

"Oh, good one, Dudley! Great shot, that one!"

Wincing, Harry turned around and looked for the owner of the round, black and white ball. That's when he spotted Piers and Dudley, running at him. A smirk was on the boy's face, and Harry spotted a nasty grin on Dudley's fat one. Harry quickly snatched up the tatty football and jumped up.

"Oi, Potter! Give us the ball back, won't you?"

Angrily, Harry kicked the ball at Dudley's face, smirking when he heard the rubber smack his cousin's grubby cheek.

"OW!" Dudley rubbed his face with his chubby hands, and Piers glared at the green-eyed boy who stood, panting heatedly and clenching his fists.

Harry took that opportunity to vault over the Durlsey's white, picket fence and sprint down the street.

"You'd better run, Potter!"

"We'll beat your sorry arse, freak!"

Heart pounding against his heaving chest, Harry ran all the way to the playing fields, five blocks away from Privet Drive. He had lost Piers and Dudley a couple of streets ago, but he could have sworn that he was still able to hear Dudley's hollering.

Where to hide? _'Someplace they'd never consider going inside of...' _The light bulb in his head shone brightly with a click. "The bookshop!"

After a quick glance behind him, Harry found the tiny, redbrick building that was Margaret Humphries' Books and opened the heavy, white door. As he wiped the sweat beads from his brow, he slipped inside. They would never find him there. But what on earth would he do when he went back to Number Four? Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would kill him, most probably.

"I suppose I'll just have to deal with it," Harry muttered while he observed the numerous bookshelves that surrounded him, towering over him and threatening to pour over with books.

_'I'm safe for now at least.' _

* * *

"Oi, lad!"

Startled, Harry jumped a foot up out of his rickety chair, which fell to the wooden floor with a loud 'bang!'. "Y-yes, ma'am?"

"Shop's closing up for the night. You going to buy something?" asked an elderly lady who wore a purple-gray wig atop of her square head.

Blushing, Harry pulled up the chair and slowly shook his head. "Err.. no, ma'am. Sorry, but I haven't any money," he told her, looking back down at the book he had been reading for the past hour.

"What you got there, lad?" She approached him slowly, wincing as her back popped. Holding her back, she peered over his shoulder and nodded her head. "Ah, _Return of the Native_, aye? Great writer, Thomas Hardy. One of my favorites."

"Yes, ma'am. It's brilliant so far. Maybe I can look for it at the library sometime," Harry said, preparing to put it back on its place on the top shelf near the front desk. Just as he took a step, though, he felt a skeletal hand on his arm, holding him back.

"Keep it, lad. I've a few more copies of that in the back, anyway," the pointy-nosed woman said, peering over her round spectacles.

"Really?" he asked incredulously, green eyes widening slightly.

"Really," she nodded. Gesturing to his book, she said, "Finish it. I assure you... what's your name?"

"Harry," he answered, smiling slightly. His smile faltered a little when the shop owner's gaze instantly went up to his forehead. Subconsciously, he brushed his bangs down with his fingers.

"Ah, then," she said, a curious look in her gray eyes. Harry suddenly wished he hadn't given this lady his name. "_Harry, _I know you'll enjoy it."

"I-I'm sure, ma'am-"

"No more of this ma'am business, Harry. Miss Humphries is my name. I own this shop."

"Yes? It's very nice, ma-" Harry corrected himself just in time. "Miss Humphries, I mean. Thanks for the book."

"Not at all, lad, not at all. Now," she said, moving to the windows and closing the old, discolored curtains. "I really must be shutting the shop up now, so..."

"Oh, sorry! Didn't mean to keep you," Harry said, walking to the door, trainers squeaking on the recently swept floor.

"No problem. Good night, Harry."

"Good night." With a polite nod, he hastily opened the door and rushed out to the dark street, gloomily making his way back to Privet Drive.

* * *

Upon arriving at his relatives' house that night, Harry realized that their car was gone from the driveway. "Door's probably locked, then," he sighed. '_Still ought to try it,' _he told himself. Reaching out, Harry turned the doorknob, thoroughly surprised when the door opened.

Immediately, however, after entering the dark house, Harry wished he had not.

The bitter smell of liquor flared his nostrils as a grubby, calloused hand yanked him up.

"Boy, just where the bloody hell have you been?" Vernon demanded.

"I-I... I only went-" Harry never did finish his sentence. A sharp slap had struck his face, and he cowered back, incredulous. Never had he been punished in this form.

"I taste of your own medicine, freak! You deserve much worse than that after what you did to Dudley!"

"Dudley? _What I did to Dudley_?" Harry exclaimed in disbelief. "_He kicked the football at my head_! He deserved what he got!"

Harry was shocked again when he received another hard slap. His uncle had never struck him like this before. This was one step beyond what he had ever done before. He suddenly wished that his aunt were there. She couldn't possibly approve of such punishment... could she?

"You freak! You bloody freak! How dare you do that to my son?" Vernon hissed, shoving him backward. Harry gasped when his sun burnt back hit the wall, a burning sensation making him cry out.

_'Aunt Petunia, where the bloody hell are you? Please hurry, please!' _

"Stop it!" Harry yelled as he was hit again.

"No, Potter! You're going to get what you deserve! No one's here to save you!"

Face ashen, stinging, and bruised, Harry fought vigorously against his obese uncle, but the man's grip was too strong. "I'm going to make sure you never hurt my son again! I'm sick of you, Potter!" Vernon screamed. "I am so damn sick of you!"

"I'm sorry! I-I was wrong to kick him with th-the ball! Please stop, sir!" Harry begged helplessly. He just could not comprehend what was happening. _'Never mind Voldemort! I think Vernon's going to finish me off for him!' _

Harry was shoved against the wall again, and this time his uncle hurt his ribs. Raspy voiced, he shouted, "Stop i-it! Please, just stop! I'm s-sorry!"

"Quit fighting, Potter! You'll only get it worse, boy- oh shite!" Vernon swore all of a sudden.

Through the window, they could see a car's headlights. The sound of an engine being shut off was heard and the bright light was gone.

"This will help that nasty bruise, Duddykins," they heard Petunia tell Dudley as they got out of their old car.

Eyes wild, Vernon released Harry. "Upstairs to your room, Potter! Right now! Hurry! Get that sorry arse of yours upstairs now! A word of this to anyone and I _will_ kill you!"

By the time Vernon had finished his snarling, Harry had already scrambled the stairs, clutching his gut and breathing heavily. After he had heard the boy enter his room and slam the door behind him, the fat, drunk man fumbled to switch the lights on and hid his bottle of liquor underneath the sofa cushion, which he plopped down onto immediately after. Just moments before his wife and son opened the front door, he snatched up the flicker and clumsily turned on the television. He blinked rapidly as his eyes tried to adjust to the light.

"Vernon?" Petunia called as she followed their son inside, clutching a small paper bag in her bony hands.

"I- err... in here, Pet!" he said, trying to act calmly. He smiled when the pair found him.

Dudley was holding an ice patch on his cheek, which had swollen quite a bit. Petunia was holding his shoulder, and smiled when she saw her husband. Her smile faded away slightly, though, when she smelt the strong scent of booze.

"Did you get something for that bruise?" Vernon asked hurriedly, sensing his wife's suspicion.

"Yeah, Dad, but it smells like sh-"

"Yes, yes, we did. Here, Dudley." Hastily, she interrupted her son, letting go of his broad shoulder to reach into her bag. Out she pulled a small blue tube of ointment, which she handed to Dudley. "Why don't you go put that on right now?" she told him, pushing him upstairs. "The sooner you do, the sooner you'll start feeling better."

Dudley muttered something about "Stupid, nasty rubbish" as he climbed the stairs.

After checking to make sure their son was up in his room, Petunia confronted Vernon. "Is that liquor I smell?"

"Liquor?" Vernon sniffed the air and frowned, shaking his beefy head. "Um... no. No! I-I don't smell any liquor, Petunia. Say, dear? Don't you think Dudders will need help with that ointment? I think I should go see-"

"Did you go to that pub? After I told you not to? Vernon, you promised me that you'd at least try!" she told him, angrily.

"No! No, of course not! I didn't go to the pub!"

She raised a thin, finely plucked eyebrow. "Ah, really?"

"Really! Besides, I don't have to go that bloody pub to get some liquor-"

"Oh, so there's a bottle, then, is there? You must have brought it here, then, because you know we don't keep liquor in the house."

"Okay, fine! I admit it. I did have a little booze, but only a little!"

"A little? It doesn't smell like a little."

"Yes, a... little. Petunia, we've already been through this! I've been under a lot of stress lately-"

"I don't care! Under stress or not, you do not need to be drinking, Vernon! Not like this," she said. Pinching the bridge of her thin nose, she shut her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath.

"Petunia-"

"I just don't want you to end up like your father. You know how much that hurt you and your family! Do you want to put Dudley and I through that?"

"Of course not! Petunia, I'm not like my dad-"

"Well, it certainly seems like your becoming him, Vernon," Petunia said. She sighed loudly and shook her head, sitting at the opposite side of the room near the fireplace.

The two sat in an uncomfortable silence for what seemed like hours to both, until Petunia finally broke it. "What about Potter? Did you punish him or did you just sit here and drink whilst Dudley and I were gone?"

Vernon stared out the window and answered, "He has been dealt with."

"You weren't drunk then, were you?"

"What?! No!" he almost yelled.

"Lower your voice, Vernon!" Petunia demanded, nostrils flaring. She didn't believe her husband at all.

The two lapsed back into silence. Her husband just remained completely silent and looked down at his hands. After a minute, she sighed and got up, headed to their bedroom.

"Petunia, I-"

"I'm going to bed, Vernon. You can stay down here tonight. You'll probably pass out on the sofa anyway," she said not looking at him at all. "You need to stop this before it gets out of control. I will not allow you to put Dudley and I through this."

Vernon said nothing.

Lips pursed, Petunia went to bed, making sure to check on Dudley before. She surprised herself and Harry by checking on the boy. Her nephew's room was dark and when she opened the door, she heard his breath hitch. She could just barely make out his form on the middle of his bed with the light seeping in through the cracked doorway, his blanket wrapped tightly around him. His breathing sped up when she spoke up.

"Did he hurt you?"

The fourteen year old didn't turn around to face her when he whispered a moment later, a little calmer, "N-no, Aunt Petunia. He di-didn't, he didn't hurt me."

Brows furrowed, Petunia stared at her nephew. Feeling her eyes on the back of his head, Harry slowly turned around, more than a little confused by her atypical behavior. "Aunt Petunia?" he said quietly, bewilderment evident in his voice.

Blinking, the thin-faced woman shook her head. Before shutting his door, she told him, not unkindly, "Go to sleep, Potter."

And he did, but not before replaying this exceptionally strange day in his head two or three times

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you think. Honestly, I do appreciate feedback very, very much, and it does motivate me to get chapters online more quickly. _**;D**_


	3. Nutty Figg & Jingles

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter... as if you did not already know that.

My sincerest thanks to all of you lovely people who take the time to leave a review. Every single one means so much to me.

"_Destination Unknown" _

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 3: Nutty Figg & Jingles

* * *

Harry woke up the next day sore and achy, not to mention black and blue in various locations on his tired body. He had bruises on his back, bruises on his arms, bruises on his face. His cheek still stung a little and had swollen up to a rather impressive size.

"I look like hell," he muttered, ruffling his hair as he stared incredulously at his reflection. "And I bloody well feel like it, too."

Sighing, Harry sat on his ruddy bed, hearing the familiar, old creak as he tiredly settled down. Silently, he stole a glance at his watch. Almost ten o'clock in the morning and no one had rapped on his door, ordering him about or handing him an outlandishly lengthy list of grueling chores. Surprised by this time he had all to himself, he decided to finish all of his summer school work.

That dreadfully boring Monday morning, he was awoken at six-fifty nine by the sound of Uncle Vernon leaving in their car for an out-of-town business meeting. Harry was sure that the man would be in an especially foul mood upon returning that night. Vernon without doubt had one hell of a hangover, and he positively loathed these monthly meetings. Whilst he was writing a ten-foot essay for Transfiguration, Harry decided to steer clear of his uncle at all costs, not just on this day, but _every_ single day of the year... for the rest of his life.

After two hours of nonstop quill scratching, Harry had at last completed the last of his work. "Finally!" he had mumbled as he put his books and things neatly in his trunk.

In the past hour, he had read four more chapters of _The Return of the Native_, pampered a demanding, yet somewhat sympathetic Hedwig, and studied his appearance, all the while still in disbelief over the events that had occurred last night.

Never would he have thought that his uncle would raise a hand to him. Never. Sure, the Dursleys neglected him, ignored him, but never before had either of his guardians actually _struck_ him. Dudley had punched him countless times, but what his uncle had done was completely out of left field.

In his reverie, he did not hear Aunt Petunia's sharp knock on his door, so it isn't at all surprising that Harry jumped when he she pushed it open and entered his bedroom.

"Aunt Petunia-" he started, rising to his feet.

"Did you not hear me knocking, Potter?" she asked, cocking one of her thin, almost nonexistent eyebrows.

Blinking, Harry shook his head and furrowed his brow. "Well, no, actually, Aunt Petunia. I'm sorry."

Nodding stiffly, Petunia breathed sharply through her nose. "I just thought I'd check-" Suddenly, she shut her mouth, gray eyes narrowing questioningly. "Are those bruises?"

Panicked, Harry thought quickly. "Bruises? I... I, where?"

"On your face, Potter," she told him, moving closer to better see his ashen face.

"Oh, those. I..." Harry struggled to find a believable answer.

"Yes?" she said impatiently.

"I, err... I stumbled and hit my trunk this morning. Really stupid thing to do, I know. I tried to break my fall, but I just couldn't. Not in time, anyway."

Petunia was no longer listening to her nephew's incoherent babbling, though, and instead was cautiously reaching out to touch his cheek. However, the boy flinched back violently, he green eyes wide.

Quietly, she stared at him, watching the emotions playing out on his young face. Alarm, panic ... fears. Swallowing, she returned her hand to her side. "You said he didn't hurt you," she whispered.

Harry's head hung. He honestly did not know what to say. He just sat on his bed, looking at his old trainers that he had been outgrowing since the start of summer.

Slowly, almost painfully, Petunia released a ragged breath, looking away. Timidly, a pair of green eyes peered up at her from behind ebony bangs.

Harry could not recall ever having seen his aunt this upset, at least not over _him_. Then, completely unexpectedly, he felt the urge, the strange _need_ to comfort her, to assure her that he was fine, that he wasn't too badly hurt. "Aunt Petunia?" In response, he received only a nod. "Aunt Petunia, I... really, I'm okay," he said softly.

"Potter, he shouldn't have..." she trailed off, bringing one of her hands to her conceal her tightly shut eyes. Harry once again surprised both himself and his aunt by reaching out to touch her free hand, which rest in the form of a white-knuckled fist pressed into her hip.

"No, no... I deserved to be punished. I shouldn't have kicked the football back at Dudley."

Petunia shook her head vehemently and uncovered her eyes as she looked down at her late sister's child, the child that she had despised for years. "True enough, but Vernon shouldn't have disciplined you in that particular manner. No one, especially not a mere child, deserves to be hit," she told him, looking him straight in the eye.

He wasn't sure how long they had their intense staring contest, but after a moment, Harry faltered and broke the gaze. Swallowing thickly, he gave a jerky nod. "Y-yes, ma'am," he agreed.

A loud scream from downstairs suddenly broke the uncomfortable silence. "Mum! My Game Boy just died, and I can't find any batteries!"

As she shut her eyes, Petunia took a deep breath. "I'll be down in a moment, Dudley!" she called back, pinching the bridge of her thin nose. "Potter, I have some salve you could put on those bruises, if you'd like"

"Oh, um... well, yeah. I'd like that, please," Harry answered, a little surprised.

"And perhaps an aspirin? I'm sure you've a nasty headache, yes?"

Harry gave a lopsided grin and chuckled. "Yes, ma'am, thanks," he nodded.

"Come on, then," Petunia said, motioning for him to follow him out of his dark bedroom. Harry obediently pushed himself up and walked behind her to the upstairs bathroom.

Harry sat on the edge of the bathtub as she rummaged through the medicine cabinet. Just as she pulled out a little, white bottle, they heard Dudley's whining once more.

"Mum? Are you coming? I was just about to beat my highest Tetris score!"

Harry watched his aunt's reflection roll her gray eyes in the mirror as she removed a little blue tube that had obviously already been used. Suddenly, both it and the bottle of aspirin were shoved into his hands. "I'm coming, Dudley!" Petunia yelled again. "These will help," she told Harry, ready to head downstairs. She was halfway out the bathroom door when she turned back to him. "Have you eaten at all today?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Well, you'll need to eat something after you take that aspirin," she said. Then, after seeing Harry's nod and hearing his reply, she continued down the hall to the staircase.

As Harry shut the bathroom door, he shook his head and murmured, "What a very strange day this is already turning out to be."

* * *

At noon, Harry was sprawled out in the grassy shade underneath the tree nearest the Dursley's house, his emerald eyes fixed upon the cloudy, gray sky. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he attempted to spot the sun, but it was nowhere to be found. Just dull, boring skies.

Sighing, Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose. He wondered what Ron and Hermione were doing. Having loads more fun than he was, that was for sure.

"I wish I was at Hogwarts," he groaned, closing his eyes.

Harry missed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry something terrible. Every summer since his eleventh birthday, he suffered this sort of depression. Number 4 Privet Drive was not his home; Hogwarts was. Even if Snape and Malfoy were there, his school was much, _much_ better than the Dursley's. There was hardly ever a dull moment at Hogwarts.

He supposed that fate had decided to give him a bit of a break last year, as not much had happened. All that he really had needed to worry about and concentrate on was winning House Cup. Oliver Wood had been breathing down the entire team's neck last year, it being Gryffindor's captain final year at Hogwarts. Quidditch was Wood's life. He lived and breathed the sport.

"And now he's gone pro," Harry murmured, smiling slightly. "On my favorite team-- bugger!"

All of a sudden, Harry felt a sharp set of claws puncture his chest. Quickly, he sat up, causing the horribly sharp claws to dig further into his skin. "_Fucking _hell!" the teenager hissed. He adjusted his glasses, which had slipped down his nose, and instantly was met with a pair of wide, golden eyes. "What the bloody hell are you doing?" he asked the shiny, tortoise-shell colored cat who had attached, herself from the look of it, to him. It was then that he realized that the cat still had her claws in him, and hurriedly he pushed her away.

Indignantly, the big-eyed creature hissed, her fluffy tail sticking straight up in the air as she sat on his lap. Harry grimaced when she started bathing her leg. Nose wrinkled, he lifted her fur and felt for a collar. After a few seconds, he found one, hot pink in color. That's when the cat decided that he also was in need of a cleaning, and began licking his bony wrist with her pale tongue, which felt like sandpaper being rubbed against his fair skin.

"Ugh! Stop it, err... Jingles," he said, after reading her silver, heart-shaped tag. Hurriedly, he pulled his hand out of her reach and read the address. "Number 9 Privet Drive?" Harry looked up and studied the houses lined up and down the empty street. Squinting, he found an elderly, white-haired lady walking around in her orderly, oddly decorated yard.

"Jingles? Jingles, where are you, love? Jingles!"

"Ah, you belong to Mrs. Figg, yeah? Well, let's not let her wander any further off."

Carefully, Harry held Jingles in his arms as he got to his feet, which took several attempts. Jingles seemed to be really into bathing at the moment.

After looking both ways, he crossed the street, set for Mrs. Figg's house. "C'mon, you hairball. Off to nutty Figg's with you." Jingles just gazed up at him, unblinkingly. "You're a peculiar thing," Harry muttered, shaking his head.

Finally, the odd pair arrived in the distraught woman's yard. "Mrs. Figg?" Harry called. From behind a bush, she jumped up, a twig and several leaves stuck in her short, bobbed hair.

"Oh, hello there, Mr. Potter! What brings you-- Jingles!" With speed Harry wasn't aware that a lady of her age could possess, Arabella Figg ran to him, arms outstretched.

"Oh, Jingles, darling!" she cried, smiling tearfully as she roughly snatched the fleabag of a cat from his arms. "Wherever did you find her, Mr. Potter?"

"My face."

Mrs. Figg turned her head slightly, brows furrowed. "Your face?"

"My face," Harry repeated seriously. Inwardly, he was laughing at his elder's incredulous expression.

Looking down at Jingles, the white-haired woman's eyes widened, a frown forming on her wrinkly face. "Good heavens. You and I will have to work on that, then, won't we?" she said, nodding.

"Well, umm... I really ought to be getting back, Mrs. Figg," Harry told her, watching the two uncomfortably and rubbing his light-haired arm.

"Ah, yes, yes, of course, dear. I do not know how I will ever repay you for finding my sweet, little Jingles. Perhaps a biscuit?" she suggested, eyes back on him. "Baked a batch just this morning. They've a wee bit of peanut butter in them. Surely you'll like them, yes?"

In his mind, Harry could picture Mrs. Figg stirring cookie dough with a large, wooden spoon, three cats, all shedding fur at an alarming rate, standing over the bowl. Barely stopping himself from gagging, he politely declined the offer and instead told her, "It was nothing, Mrs. Figg. You needn't give me anything."

A gentle smile stretched her face. "You're a sweet boy, Mr. Potter. A very kind, polite boy. Much nicer than that cousin of yours."

"Thank you, Mrs. Figg," he said, at least attempting to act modestly. Frankly, inside he was cheering, maybe even doing a few flips. '_Alas, someone who actually agrees with me!'_

* * *

"Potter?"

Harry gave Hedwig's head one last pat and walked over to his door. "Yes, Aunt Petunia?" he said after he opened it. "Oh, it's time for me to cook dinner. I'll wash up and be right down in a moment-"

"No," Petunia interrupted, freezing him to his spot.

Baffled, Harry looked questioningly at his thin aunt. "Pardon?"

"No, you won't be cooking tonight. In fact, I just finished the salad. I only came up to retrieve you."

"_You _cooked dinner?" Harry asked dubiously, 'gaping like a fish out of water', as Professor Snape would put it.

Lips pursed, Petunia nodded indignantly. "Yes," she replied sharply, hands on her hips. "I am quite capable of cooking. Now, will you be joining us, or shall I leave you to prepare you own supper later on?"

The black-haired teen immediately sobered, and began chewing on his bottom lip. After a short pause, he whispered, "Is Uncle Vernon back yet?"

Petunia's eyes softened slightly. "No, Potter," she answered softly, "he hasn't returned quite yet. I expect he'll arrive home around eight, though, in a couple hours."

"Right, right." Harry nodded, looking down as he scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, okay. I'll wash up right now," he replied, eyes returning to his aunt's.

He was waiting for her to move so that he could make his way to the washroom, but she lingered there in his doorway, staring intently at him.

"Aunt Petunia, is something wrong?"

Eyebrows knitted together, she nodded to his hair. "You've not done anything to your hair, have you, Potter?"

"I... sorry?"

"It's red, just there," she told him, touching her own hair. "You have red streaks in your bangs."

"Oh," Harry nodded. "No, ma'am. I've never even considered changing the color of my hair. Those streaks, they just kind of... appeared, I suppose."

"Very well, then," she said, satisfied. Nodding, she turned back to the staircase and made her way toward it, allowing Harry to leave his room.

Shrugging, Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes and went to clean up.

* * *

A/N: Another chapter done! Yay... Now, please do me the favor and kindly leave a review. Thanks for reading! 


	4. I Want The One I Can't Have

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Again, thanks reviewers! You all are wonderful. Cyber hugs to all!

"_Destination Unknown" _

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 4: I Want the One I Can't Have

* * *

From his bedroom window, Harry, hidden discreetly behind his curtains, watched Vernon drive back into the driveway at around eight o'clock that same night. He had to admit that he was very disappointed to see that his uncle had come back. Secretly, he had been hoping that he would disappear of the face of the earth, and perhaps land on Uranus.

"Perfect place for arses like him," Harry had sniggered.

However, when Uncle Vernon caused the car to quiver vaguely by brashly slamming door, the teen's smirk vanished, and instead he worried his chapped, lower lip. Immediately, his eyes traveled over to his door. Of course, he contemplated using a strong locking charm on it, but he would be breaking the law. Sighing, he fell backwards onto his bed, arms folded over his stomach.

"Why can't I just have a normal family?"

Harry lay on his bed, staring at the shadows dancing on his ceiling, absolutely still. More than ever, he wished that his mum and dad were alive. That the three of them were living together in country, safe and content. Happy. Harry longed to know what it feels like to be loved. Not as a friend, and not as the Boy-Who-Lived, but as a son. What does a parent's love feel like? He did not know.

"I won't ever know," he whispered hoarsely. Silvery tears rolled down his ashen cheeks, leaving behind shiny, wet paths.

For minutes, perhaps even hours, he cried. The time was not known, nor was it important. Nothing mattered.

Why him? Why did he have to be the Boy-Who-Lived? Why did he have to live with the bloody lightning bolt-shaped scar? Why did his parents have to _die_?

"It's so damn unfair," he choked out painfully, rolling onto his stomach. In white-knuckled fist he clutched the blanket that clothed his mattress. The same one that he been given when he was seven. It was old and ratty and torn. No one had ever bothered to give him anything new, nothing that hadn't belonged to someone else before him, nothing that he could actually claim as _his own_.

His parents would have given him brand new things. They would've properly taken care of him.

Would they have not?

Or would they have hated him as well?

"Probably," Harry whispered miserably, "After all, it's m-my fault that they're dead. My entire fault... Oh, Mum, Dad... I'm so sorry, I'm so bloody sorry!"

It then became very difficult to breathe. No matter how much effort he put into sucking air into his lungs, he couldn't do it, and his chest felt awfully tight, as if it was about to detonate like a bomb.

Harry instantaneously felt like he needed to escape, to flee Number 4 Privet Drive, but he couldn't get up. He was shaking. He could feel each and every tremor travel down his spine. Sweat was trickling down his face, rolling down the side of his nose and stopping just above his upper lip.

Suddenly, the murky shadows from his ceiling drifted down upon his body, darkening his already dim world. Darkness closed in on him, smothering him, and soon it claimed his thoroughly exhausted body and mind.

* * *

"SHUT THAT BLOODY BIRD UP, POTTER!"

Harry sprung up in bed, knocking the back of his head on his windowsill. Moaning, he opened his eyes, surprised to discover that his vision was perfectly clear. "What on earth... ? Oh, never mind." Upon touching his face, he felt his old, black, round-framed glasses.

"POTTER!"

Remembering what had woken him up in the first place, he called back, a little timidly, "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

"Potter, shut that bird up!"

"Of course, sir! I apologize!" he said quickly, getting up and padding over to Hedwig, who was... not squawking...

"Um..." Craning his neck, he looked behind at his window. There, sitting ever so patiently was Ron's owl, Pig. Pouncing onto his bed, effectively squishing the life out of his only pillow, he undid the rusty latch and pushed open his window. Pig toppled inside, quieting down when Harry seized him around his fat neck.

"Shut it, you! Just let me have the letter and leave!" Harry hissed impatiently. Big eyes having grown even wider, Pig obediently stuck out his leg, allowing Harry to disentangle the letter tied to it. "Thank you! Now, please, go!"

To this day, Harry has never seen any bird fly as quickly as the little, fat owl known as Pig did out his window that summer day.

Listening carefully, Harry heard Vernon stomp away outside. Rubbing a hand over his face, he put the letter aside and latched up his window.

"Hedwig, Hedwig, Hedwig... how are you this morning, girl?" he sighed, getting up and walking over to her cage, which he'd cleaned several days ago. "Are you hungry?"

Seeing him grab the familiar canary-yellow bag, Hedwig flapped her long wings eagerly in the affirmative.

As her owner open her cage door and poured an adequate amount of her feed into her bowl, she affectionately nipped the tip of his index finger, making the corner of his mouth to turn upward in a lopsided smile.

"There you are, Hedwig. Now, let's see what Ron has to say," he said, turning around and swiping up the off-white envelope. Anxiously, he ripped open the seal with his thumb and pulled the letter out.

_'Dear Harry,_

_I just received what is quite possibly the best news I've ever heard from Dad. Guess what it is!' _

Harry paused and thought for a moment. "Did Malfoy fall off a cliff?" he wondered. Chuckling, his eyes traveled back down to the sloppy mess that was Ronald Weasley's writing.

_'Dad scored tickets to the Quidditch World Cup! THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!!!' _

"What?" Harry gasped, incredulous.

_'We and Hermione are all going, even you if you want! Or, rather, if the Dursleys will let you. Ask, will you, mate? This is a once in a lifetime chance, Harry! Ireland versus Bulgaria! Viktor Krum is fit again after he took that bludger to shoulder last month, so he will be playing! Maybe we'll get to meet him!_

_You've told me about your relatives, so I know what gits they are, but definitely ask! Write back with their answer. _

_Sincerely, _

_Ron' _

Harry was speechless. Utterly speechless.

How in the hell would he ever get the Dursley's permission? Especially Uncle Vernon's?

* * *

That afternoon, Harry was sweeping the kitchen when Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley finished eating their lunch. Vernon and Dudley had practically inhaled theirs.

"Do the dishes, Potter," Vernon told him as he rose up out of his seat with much difficulty.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose as Dudley deliberately tilted his plate over, brushing the crumbs of his first, second, and third cucumber sandwich onto the floor. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," he muttered, bending down to sweep them up.

"Is that an attitude I hear, boy?" Vernon growled, cocking an eyebrow dangerously.

Forcing Dudley's snickering out of his ears, Harry calmed down and answered, "No, sir, it isn't."

Snorting, Vernon shook his head and walked to the sitting room. Dudley followed as soon as he heard the television switch on. Harry and Petunia were left alone.

This was the perfect opportunity, he decided. Petunia had been acting odd lately anyway, so maybe, just maybe there was a chance that she would allow him to go to the Weasley's.

_'Here goes.' _Not wanting to lose this sudden burst of courage that had jolted into him, he swiftly put the broom aside so that it was laid against the refrigerator.

"Aunt Petunia?" he said, feeling both nervous and hopeful at the same time.

"Yes, Potter?" she answered back, looking up at him from the table curiously.

"I was wondering if you might give me permission to stay with a friend for the rest of the summer, ma'am."

"A friend?" she said, penciled eyebrow elevated.

Harry nodded, his hands wrung together tightly in front of him. A little of his hope faded away when a dark expression took over her previously questioning one.

"One of _them, _you mean?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

Lips pursed, she stared at him. Just then, Uncle Vernon decided to make an appearance in the kitchen once more.

"Need a bevvy," he muttered, striding past Harry and Petunia to the shelves above the sink. With a grubby hand, he opened the cabinet door and out he pulled a shiny glass, the sunlight from the windows reflecting on it. "What's he badgering you about now, Pet?" he sneered as he turned back to them.

"I'm not badgering anyone--" Harry began heatedly, only to be interrupted by his aunt.

"Potter wants to stay at a friend's house. He's, ah... one of _them_."

"Friend? You mean to say that some idiot has actually befriended you? Well, my goodness-"

"He's not an idiot!" Harry yelled, scowling. However, when he realized just what he had done, he cursed himself. Was this not the man who had beaten him a mere three days ago?

_'Why'd I have to be so _stupid_ sometimes?' _

"You'd better watch your tone, boy!" Vernon warned, taking a huge step toward him. Harry instantaneously took a step backward.

"I-I'm sorry, sir!"

"As you should be, you little freak!" Vernon growled, his face purple, "and you can forget going to that freakish friend's house!"

"But-!"

"Potter," sharply said Petunia, causing both Harry and Vernon's heads to snap to her own thin one. "You heard your uncle," she continued, eying Harry carefully.

His brow was lined, and his lips were pulled downward in a slight frown. This past week had been exceptionally strange. Why was his aunt acting so oddly? What had caused Vernon to start drinking so heavily? Why was his face, his hands, his hair, his whole, bloody body changing so drastically?

Harry forced these thoughts from his mind, and found himself staring back at Aunt Petunia's unwavering, piecing gaze. Was it just him, or was that desperation he saw? Maybe the tiniest spot of it?

Cocking his head to the side, he nodded, albeit a little slowly. "Yes... yes, Aunt Petunia." Then, looking back at his uncle, who seemed just as puzzled as he was, he stammered, "S-sorry, sir. I'll just do the dishes, then."

"You'd better, boy," Vernon huffed, looking back at Harry as he walked past his wife to the living room.

As Harry approached the sink and the stack of dirty dishes next to it, he heard Petunia come up next to him and add several more plates to it.

"Thanks," he mumbled before turning on the hot water.

Petunia nodded, and then came closer. "Don't go looking for trouble, Potter. I'm certain you don't fancy a repeat of the other night, correct?"

Swallowing, Harry replayed 'the other night' in his head and stiffly nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Quietly, she sighed and told him, "Just be careful." Then, after a brief moment of silence, she added, "Please."

Even after the chat they had had the other day, Harry was fairly startled by the woman's request. Eyebrows a little higher than normal, he nodded and said reassuringly, "I will, Aunt Petunia. Don't worry, I will."

* * *

That night, Harry rest in bed listening to the whispering music coming from the speakers of one of Dudley's six radios. He had found it whilst cleaning out the attic at the start of that summer. It was an ugly shade of pink, almost peach. Aunt Marge had given it to Dudley for his twelfth birthday, but the boy had never even opened the rectangular, black box that it had come in, so Harry, after struggling through almost four minutes of tireless deliberation, took it for his own enjoyment. Of course, he kept it well-hidden, and at the start of each school year, he packed it carefully in his trunk and off to Hogwarts he and it went. Even though muggle contraptions and electronics did not work properly at his school, he felt it necessary to have with him. Merlin forbid he leave it behind in Surrey and have one of the Dursleys happen upon its hiding spot in the hole in the wall behind his wardrobe!

"Horrific thought, that," he muttered as he adjusted the dial. "Now, what is the name of that station I like? Can't remember it for the life of me..."

He knew had found it when he heard the voice of the Smiths' Morrissey singing.

_"On the day that your mentality_

_Decides to try and catch up with your biology_

_Come round..._

_'Cause I want the one I can't have, _

_And it's driving me mad. _

_It's all over, all over, all over my face."_

"Here it is." Rubbing the scratches on his grazed chest through his shirt, he leaned against his headboard, his fingers playing with the curtains behind him, twisting and twirling the soft material. He moved one hand to his stomach and found the pen and thin pad of paper resting atop of it. Sighing, he took both items and rearranged them so that the black ink pen was pressed to the slightly wrinkled, white paper.

_'Dear Ron, _

_Thanks for inviting me, but, as expected, the Dursleys have said no. Hope you, your wonderful family, and Hermione all have a wicked time, though. You can tell me all about it. _

_Cheers, _

_Harry' _

With a sad smile, he gestured for Hedwig. The snowy-feathered owl complied and flew over to him, landing on his shoulder. "Here, girl. Take this to Ron for me, will you?"

Hedwig affectionately butted his palm as she took his letter in her black beak. Harry ruffled her feathers before opening his window, which she easily flew out of.

"Be safe, Hedwig," he whispered, shutting his window carefully and latching it. He watched her until she disappeared into the distance.

Sighing, he returned to his previous position, hands folded on his flat stomach as it slowly rose and fell with each breath he took in.

"_And I want the one I can't have, _

_And it's driving me mad. _

_It's all over, all over, all over my face." _

"He's so lucky." Harry turned on his side, staring unblinkingly at his wall.

_"'Cause I want the one I can't have..." _

"Why couldn't I have been born into a family like the Weasleys?"

_"And it's driving me mad. _

_It's all over, all over, all over my face." _

Harry envied Ron. He had ever since he first met the red-haired boy on Platform 9¾. Ron had what he probably never would have, and that was family. A real, true family.

* * *

A/N: Here it is! Chapter 4. Hope you all enjoy it. Let me know by leaving a review! Thanks. 


	5. Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Thanks so much, reviewers!

"_Destination Unknown" _

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 5: Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

* * *

_"Dear Harry, _

_That's too bad, mate. I don't really even feel like going now. Definitely won't be half as much fun without you. Maybe next time? _

_Sincerely, _

_Ron." _

* * *

_"Ron, _

_Don't feel bad, Ron. Really, you'll still have an ace time! It is the Quidditch World Cup after all. You'll have to tell me all about it on the Hogwarts Express._

_All the best, _

_Harry." _

* * *

_"Dear Harry, _

_How are things there in Little Whinging? Not all that well, I take it. Ron just wrote me with the news. It's terrible that you aren't able to go. I don't even enjoy Quidditch and I am going to be there. Well, who knows? Maybe your luck will change, and the Dursleys will change their minds! Don't lose hope, Harry. _

_Love, _

_Hermione_

_P.S.: Have you checked through your schoolwork? Probably not. You really ought to, Harry! Check for mistakes and spelling errors. It might help you receive higher marks!" _

* * *

_"Dear Hermione, _

_When Hell freezes over. The Dursleys will never change their minds, or at least Vernon won't. I'm not so sure about Aunt Petunia anymore. She has been acting so strangely lately. I don't know why, but it's very odd. _

_Have a great time at the World Cup anyway, Hermione. Even if you don't like it, enjoy the game for me. _

_Take Care,_

_Harry_

_P.S.: For your information, I have reviewed all of my work. It's perfect, I swear. Besides, you know quite well why I get poor marks in Potions! Snape is unfair! He hates me!_

* * *

_"Dear Harry, _

_I apologise, Harry. Sorry. _

_See you soon, _

_Hermione_

_P.S.- Professor Snape, Harry! Not Snape. He's our professor and he deserves our respect, no matter how harsh he can be at times. _

* * *

_"Dear Hermione, _

_I suppose._

_Grudgingly,_

_Harry_

_P.S.- Apology accepted._

* * *

The next afternoon at a quarter to four, Harry could be found cleaning the already clean windows of the Dursley's house. The smell of the cleaning spray was making him nauseous, and the smell of the sweat running down his hot face wasn't helping any. He felt sick, ill. In other words, Harry James Potter was miserable. Miserable and bored. 

Clean. All he ever did during the summer season was clean. Clean, clean, clean, clean, _clean. _

He should be out with friends, playing football with other blokes out on the pitch, listening to all his favorite bands, watching the few decent shows on the telly, going to the matinee. He should be having _fun_, not getting high on Beatrice Adam's Window Cleaner!

Harry groaned when his uncle's head popped up behind the window. He was inside, all cool and clean. Why couldn't he be in there?

Vernon glared as he inspected the kitchen window Harry was currently working on, his beady eyes taking in every centimeter of the glass. His eyes grew large when they saw the top right corner. He began tapping the spot furiously.

"Streak! Streak! Potter, you bloody fool, there's a streak right here!"

Although the window was shut, Harry understood every word the man had said, and that was because the man was screaming like a raving lunatic.

_'Because he _is_ a raving lunatic,' _Harry thought, amused. He didn't let his amusement show, however, and instead went about rubbing away the awful, terrible, despicable streak. Exactly thirty-six and a half seconds later, it was history.

Vernon narrowed his eyes and lifted his head slightly, tapping his bottom lip with one of his thick fingers. Then, he gave a stiff nod and moved away from the window, to the refrigerator Harry presumed, rolling his green eyes.

As Harry got up from cramped, kneeling position he had been in, his stomach gave a growl. He hadn't eaten since lunch of yesterday. He had been forced to skip both breakfast and lunch today. Uncle Vernon had decided to give him a chore list that was a whole page longer than normal, so had been doing nothing but cleaning the entire day. He was starving!

"Wouldn't be so bloody hungry if I were with the Weasleys," he grumbled, walking round the corner of the house where he had just one last window to clean. "Ron's so lucky! He gets to go to the Quidditch World Cup, whilst I've got to stay here, cleaning windows that don't need cleaning!"

"Ooh, look, Piers. I think Potter getting a little pissed!" came the unmistakable voice of his pig of a cousin suddenly.

"I quite agree, Dudley," said Piers' high-pitched, squeaky voice.

Chapped lips pursed and nostrils flaring, Harry attempted to ignore the pair and carried on cleaning the final window.

"You see his face? Ah, yeah, look at it, Piers. It's turning all red!" Dudley laughed, bouncing his football in his hands.

"Ah, yes! All red!" Piers agreed.

"Ooh, do you see him?"

"Aye, I see him all right."

"Do you see that vicious glare of his?"

"Indeed I do, Dudley. Indeed I do."

"Why do you think he's glaring, Piers?"

"Perhaps he-"

"Why don't you two morons go off and wank yourselves to death or something? Seriously, no one would miss you idiots," Harry said, adjusting his glasses.

"Get stuffed, Potter!" Dudley yelled, crossing his arms. Piers glanced at his friend before imitating him.

"Yeah, Potter!" Piers called, nodding his square-like head.

Harry rolled his eyes and scrubbed the last drip of window cleaner away. _'School year can't come soon enough...'_

"Y'know what I think, Piers?"

"No, what do you think, Dudley?"

"Here's what I think, Piers," Dudley said, smirking. "I think that Potter here is jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Jealous."

"But whatever is he jealous of?"

"Jealous of us, of course! Jealous of us because we get to go see Tottenham play Chelsea this weekend!"

"Tottenham is going to slaughter Chelsea!" Piers said, grinning.

"They sure are, Piers-"

"No, they're not," Harry cut in, turning round to face them, cleaning supplies in hand.

Piers and Dudley scoffed. "Excuse me?" "What do you mean?" "Of course Tottenham'll win!" "They're wicked!"

"Chelsea's best," Harry declared as he made his way past them.

"_What?"_

"Chelsea has a crap team, Potter!"

"No, they don't. They've got a brilliant defense, and an even better offense, and-"

"Whatever, Potter," Dudley sneered. After another quick glace at his friend, Piers sneered as well.

Harry opened the front door after wiping his feet on the mat. Then, he looked up at his cousin and his sidekick, eyebrows raised as he told them, "You just wait and see. Chelsea will win, 3-0."

Dudley huffed, shaking his fat head. "The Spurs are going to butcher the Blues."

"10-0!" Piers yelled.

Even Dudley gave the scrawny, curly-haired boy a bewildered look.

"10-0?"

"Yes!"

After a moment, Harry shook his head and went inside, the door closing behind him. He gave a start when he almost walked into his Uncle Vernon.

"Watch where you're going, Potter!"

"Y-yes, sir! I apologize, Uncle Vernon. I wasn't," Harry stammered, clutching his rag and the bottle of cleaner to his chest tightly. "I, uh, I wasn't paying attention."

"Obviously," Vernon sneered, patting his moustache. The man's beady, little eyes traveled from his face to his chest, and one bushy eyebrow was cocked. "You've finished the windows, then?" he asked, nodding down at the cleaning supplies.

"Oh, yes, sir. I... I only just cleaned the last one," the green-eyed boy answered, wishing he could disappear.

Vernon frowned, evidently unhappy. "Very well," he muttered, displeasure dripping from his voice.

_'Suppose he thinks he didn't give me enough chores today_,' Harry thought, inwardly rolling his eyes.

"Return those to their proper places, then."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, nodding curtly. He passed by Vernon swiftly and carefully as he could. _'Certainly wouldn't do to step on his toes now, would it?'_

Harry entered the bright and clean kitchen, which still smelt strongly of the lemon scented cleaner he had used on the countertops that morning.

Kneeling down, he opened the cabinet underneath the sink, where the other gross, malodorous cleaners and nasty bleach and ratty towels were kept. Hand around the neck of the bottle, he deposited Miss Beatrice Adam's foul smelling product inside, toward the front.

And that's when he saw it.

A tall, narrow bottle, clear and shiny and filled with a dark, ruby-colored liquid.

"Liquor..." he whispered, a knot forming in his throat. Pale hand shaking, his long fingers brushed the top of the bottle.

Should he tell Aunt Petunia? Surely she would want to know.

_'Maybe she already knows. Maybe she doesn't care anymore...' _

But that was stupid. After all the fuss she had been making about his uncle's unhealthy drinking habits lately, she would certainly want to know. Most certainly.

Unsteadily pushing his thin self up, Harry grabbed the towel up from the cool, tile floor and prepared go search for his aunt... and came face-to-face with the man he feared almost as much as he did Voldemort.

"Not _a word_," Vernon bit out, in a hushed voice. "Not a single, _bloody_ word about this to _anyone_."

Harry gasped as his collar was fisted. "Especially not to Petunia."

"I..."

"Have I made myself clear, boy?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"You understand?"

"I... I do, s-sir."

Vernon forced Harry closer to him, his shiny nose practically touching his nephew's. "I'll know if you do, Potter. Believe me, I'll know if you tell your aunt, or a neighbor, or any of those freaks you associate with. You tell _anyone_ about _anything_, and I _will_ kill you."

Harry could not speak. His throat was too tight. He was too scared to talk, to move even.

After a moment of what seemed like forever, Vernon roughly let him go. The pair stared at one another for a few seconds longer before the man demanded that he get to his room at once. So Harry did.

He stayed curled up in bed for the rest of the day, not daring to make a sound or move of any sort. He remained coiled in a tight ball, and tried to imagine Hogwarts and his friends. Late, after checking to make sure his bedroom door was tightly locked, he decided it was safe to sleep.

* * *

It was only a quarter past one the next morning. Harry was awoken by the sound of swearing and stumbling from the hallway. 

"D-damn stairs! All rickety and noisy!" he heard his uncle slur.

Harry quickly found his glasses and clumsily pushed them onto his face, poking his left ear several times in the process.

"Oh, it's that Potter freak's fault I bet! He d-did this! I'm gonna ki... I'm gonna kill him!"

By now, Harry was wide awake and thinking fast. It was painfully obvious that Vernon was drunk.

"Oh, please, no!" he whispered as he heard his uncle's heavy footsteps nearing his bedroom door. It was then that he realized that he had forgotten lock it. "Oh, damn it! Please, God, no! Don't let him come in here!" he quietly begged, sinking down into his mattress, pulling his blanket over him as though it was a shield.

For a moment, he heard nothing. Absolute, utter silence. He didn't dare move a muscle.

But then his doorknob squeaked, and shiny tears stung green his eyes.

_'No, no, no... No, please, God... Don't let him hurt me!' _

The door was pushed open.

_'Please!'_

Panting, the smell of booze, the feel of his uncle's sharp, unwavering gaze piercing into his own frightened one.

_'God, save me...'_

He was crying. He could feel every tear slide out the corner of his eye, down his cheek, drip down his wobbling chin.

A cruel grin. So frightening. Even more so than Voldemort's.

As Harry began to shake his head, Vernon began to nod his, and Harry struggled to breathe when the man pulled from his pocket a large knife from the drawer in the kitchen.

Vernon ran at him, glazed eyes huge and unblinking. The knife in his clenched fist was raised in the air, then, in a blur, brought down into his chest, directly into his rapidly beating heart. The last thing he heard was the sound of Hedwig's frantic hooting.

* * *

A/N: Ooh! Exciting, isn't it? Cliff-hanger! Review, please! 

Also, do you think I should bring up the rating? Just to be safe? I'm not sure, so if anyone might let me know their opinion, I'd greatly appreciate it!


	6. Save a Prayer

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

I seriously have the best reviewers and readers around. You people are awesome. Really, you all keep me going. Thanks!

"_Destination Unknown" _

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 6: Save a Prayer

* * *

She watched as the teenager's face became wet and slick with tears. He was making strangled sort of sounds from his throat, and he appeared to be battling some invisible man or other. 

Hedwig butted her cage with her head sharply, forcefully, until the door swung open. The snowy owl flew over to her trembling owner.

"No...no, God, please!" the boy murmured in a panicked, childish voice that was quite unlike the deeper tone she had become accustomed to hearing every morning at feeding time.

Determined to save him from this thing, this _monster_, Hedwig landed on his heaving chest with a light, practically inaudible 'thump' noise.

"Please..."

Hedwig rubbed his face with her own feathery one, carefully nipping his earlobe every now and then. She had to save him!

"S-sir... no, don't...!"

Finally, five or six long minutes later, those familiar green eyes snapped open.

* * *

Harry woke with a gasp, bolting upright into a sitting position, breathing heavily. He started when he saw a big, white object in his lap, moving. Frantically, he felt for his glasses. Just as he was putting them on, this 'object' gave a hoot. 

"Hedwig... " he whispered hoarsely. "Oh, Hedwig, girl." Slowly, his eyes traveled over to his door.

His door was locked. He was not bleeding. He had not been stabbed. He was alive.

He was actually, really, truly _alive. _

His eyes shut and his face twisted painfully. Hands pale and shaking, he unsteadily raised them to his head, cradling his tear-stained, ashen face. A sob escaped his lips, and he began crying uncontrollably.

It had all been a dream, some twisted, sick, dreadful sort of nightmare! Just a dream... he was alive.

* * *

At about nine that Thursday, a half-hour after Vernon had left the house for work, Harry came out of his bedroom.

He was currently nibbling on a piece of burnt toast, watching some stupid comedy. One of Dudley's favorites of course, not his own. Petunia was reading the morning paper in chair next to the sofa on which Harry sat. Dudley was on the floor, as close as he could physically get to the television.

Harry was still a tad shaken up from his dream. The thought of his uncle gulping down various liquors and whiskies and wines and beers clouded his mind.

Aunt Petunia must have noticed that he wasn't quite all there. "Something on your mind, Potter?" she asked quietly, turning to the page with celebrity news and happenings on it.

Harry forced his bite of toast down his throat before he softly answered, "It's nothing. Just thinking about... uh... school and friends. Things."

Petunia apparently was not convinced, and she stared at him. Harry found it extremely difficult not to look away.

"Nothing is wrong?" she said skeptically.

_'Should I tell her now?'_ Harry wondered, absentmindedly biting his bottom lip. Petunia noticed and asked again, "Are you positive?"

"I...well..." He hesitated. Vernon would kill him if he found out. But how exactly would he know?

"Yes, Potter?" she said, a bit impatiently this time.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia. Quite positive," he finally answered, decision made, though on a whim.

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

Shaking her head, her eyes returned to the paper. "Very well, then," she murmured.

* * *

"Potter! Where are you?" 

"In the cupboard, ma'am!"

Harry, as he put the broom and dust pan back inside of the cupboard that had used to be his room, listened to his aunt and cousin's footsteps as they descended the stairs.

"Ah, there you are," Petunia said, turning the corner, bony hand still on the smooth railing. "I am taking Dudley into town for awhile."

Eyes widened slightly, Harry looked up, a few shades paler than normal. "Oh... I suppose... just you two, then?" he asked quietly, a bad feeling filling his gut.

Petunia seemed to detect his worry and told him, "We won't be long at all. Just a quick trip to the doctor's office."

From behind his mother, Dudley groaned. "I hate going to see Dr. McArthur!"

"I know, Dudders, but it's only a check-up," Petunia reasoned, patting his back.

Dudley snorted and shook his head.

"Go on out, Dudley. I'll be there in a moment. The car should be arriving any moment now."

Pout on his chubby face, the round boy stomped outside, much like a toddler might. Once he was out the door, Petunia walked over to Harry, who was staring at the floor.

"I know that you are worried, but you really needn't fret. Vernon took his lunch to work today, so he should not be coming home anytime soon," she said, voice soft.

Harry kept his head down. How he wished he could tell her! Why was he being such a coward?

_'Because I have yet another nutter threatening to kill me now, and this one I actually inhabits the same house that I do!'_

Petunia sighed, running a hand through her stiff, hair-sprayed hair. "Potter," she said, "I sense that there is something you wish to tell me. Am I wrong?"

He slowly, hesitantly shook his head.

"Well..."

"Aunt Petunia, I..."

"Yes...?"

"I can't... I mean, it's nothing-"

"Potter, obviously this _is not _nothing! This _is_ something. Just tell me what it is you want to say!"

Something inside the teen snapped. "I can't!" he screamed, irritated, miserable, scared. "I can't tell you, Aunt Petunia. I... he... I can't! I was forbidden to tell any-"

"Forbidden? By who...?"

Harry's face crumbled, much like his aunt's did. New tears burnt his already stinging eyes.

"What has he done now?"

She didn't have to say the man's name. Both knew very well just who _he_ was.

"I c-can't tell-"

"Yes, you can, Potter, and you're going to tell me right now!" Petunia yelled, frustrated, stepping toward him, arms outstretched. She froze right where she was when the boy flinched.

"Please, no! Don't... I'm sorry, I'll tell you, I'll tell you!"

She whispered, "Potter... I would never... _could_ never hit you." She watched as tears flowed down his eyes. Harry attempted to wipe them away with his sleeve, but he was just too upset. His shoulders were racking with silent sobs, his face glistening with tears.

Carefully, Petunia knelt before him, gingerly taking his hands in hers after a couple seconds of uncertainty.

"Potter... Harry, please, tell me what is wrong."

Slowly, Harry glanced up, his eyes meeting his aunt's briefly. He saw the worry, the concern filling them, and it almost overwhelmed him. However, he calmed himself down to the point where he could actually swallow the throbbing lump in his throat. Then, he took a deep breath, sore eyes shut. When he spoke, Petunia had to strain her ears in order to hear him.

"C-cabinet... the one under the kitchen sink. Have you l-looked under there lately?"

Brows wrinkled, she shook her head. "Not lately. I did last Sunday, when I came home from the store. Why? What does that have to do with any of this?"

"Everything," Harry breathed, opening one eye. "Y-you see, he's keeping a bottle... wine. It's inside the cabinet."

Silence. Not a word came from Petunia. Curiously, Harry blinked and opened his red and swollen eyes.

She was no longer facing him, and instead had closed her eyes, face in the direction of the cupboard door.

A shiny droplet came out of the corner of her right eye. Instinctively, Harry felt he should do something.

Petunia felt one of her nephew's hands pull from hers, followed by the feeling of the pad of his calloused thumb touching her cheek, brushing away her one tear. When she looked up at him, he quickly removed his hand.

She sighed. "Oh, Lord... why?" she murmured to no one in particular. Harry could only remain quiet. Petunia was about to open her mouth again, when, quite suddenly, the front door burst open.

"Mum! Mum, Dad's here!"

Harry's eyes grew twice their normal size, his aunt gasping beside him.

"Pet, love!"

"What's he...? Harry, get to your room!" she hissed in his ear, rising briskly to her feet.

"Don't tell him what I said!" Harry said, eyes pleading. He flinched when she pushed him toward the stairs.

"Shush! Get to your room-"

"You don't understand! He'll kill me if he finds out!"

"Harry-"

"Please-!"

"Get to your room, Harry! Now, damn it!"

Startled by his aunt's unusual choice of words, Harry ran quickly, but quietly, as he possibly could to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

* * *

Petunia wiped her eyes before entering the foyer, where Dudley and Vernon stood, doing a fine job of doing absolutely nothing at all. 

"Ah, there you are, Pet! What are you two doing here? I thought you and Dudder's were supposed to be at Dr. McArthur's office," Vernon said, approaching his wife.

"Oh... yes, well, we were just about to be on our way," Petunia replied, forcing a small smile. Dudley noticed it was strained, and looked at his mother oddly. Vernon, however, did not take note of it.

"I see," he said, nodding."

"Well, I... um...I'm on my lunch break! When I arrived at Grunnings this morning, I realized that I'd left my lunch here." Vernon sighed, and walked to the kitchen, telling them, "So, I've come to retrieve it. I really must be quick, though. Quite a bit of traffic today, you see."

Dudley and a rather suspicious Petunia followed him, one eyeing the refrigerator, the other staring at the sink, or rather, the cabinet beneath it.

"How has work been, Vernon?" Petunia asked, not really caring at all. Trying to act casual, she leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"Oh, err, well enough. A few big purchases, a few customers. One lady came in the shop today, didn't have a damn-"

"Vernon, mind your language!" Petunia scolded her now scowling husband. "Dudley is in here."

"Yes, yes, I apologize, Petunia." Vernon pulled his head out of the refrigerator, looking at Dudley, who was snickering. "Sorry, Dudders. Now," he said, eyes squinted. "Where is that bloody sandwich... oops, sorry, love."

Petunia shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Really, Vernon. You'd better watch that mouth of yours." She sighed, staring out a window. _'How should I go about doing this?_' she wondered to herself.

"Oh! Mum?"

"Yes, Dudley?" she answered, eyes on her son.

"We're nearly out of toilet tissue, so you know," he said, rubbing one of his blue eyes. Yawning, he continued, "Soda pop, too." He watched his skinny mother's eyes widen.

This was the perfect opportunity!

Petunia nodded. "Ah, we'll need to be running by the store then, won't we? Oh, that reminds me! Dudley, go see how much hand soap is left in the upstairs bathroom, please."

Dudley, groaning, reluctantly obeyed and went to climb the stairs.

"Thank you, Dudley!" she called. Then, she murmured, "Is there any bleach?" She was about to open the cabinet doors when her husband dashed over quickly, fat hands on the doors.

"H-here, Pet, I'll look! You... you shouldn't be bending over like that, with your bad back and all, you know," he stammered out, eyes big.

Petunia looked up, eyebrow raised. "Bad back? Vernon, you know my back is perfectly fine."

"But-"

"Stop being silly, Vernon. Move so I can check."

It took a few seconds, but he finally did move. Just a bit.

Her husband hovering over her shoulder, she opened the cabinet doors, looking for the wine. It didn't take long for her to find it, sitting in the back, her reflection showing on its shiny glass bottle. Her lips pulled into a tight line, she pulled slowly pulled it out.

* * *

Upstairs in his room, Harry listened. He knew very well what was about to happen. 

"Be careful, Aunt Petunia," he whispered.

He strained his ears, and soon heard a cabinet door squeak open.

"Please."

* * *

"What's this?" 

"..."

"Vernon, we've been over this!"

"It's not mine!"

"What do you mean it's not yours?"

"I mean, that isn't my wine!"

"Oh, and whose do you suppose it is?"

"Well..."

"Yes?"

"It's probably Potter's-"

"And just how would he get it?"

"One of those freaks sent it to him!"

"No... I don't suspect that-"

"Or maybe it's... you know..."

"I don't."

"Petunia, you know the sort of friends Dudley has. That Piers boy might have given it to-"

"Don't you _dare_ say this belongs to _our son_, Vernon Dursley! You know bloody well whose this is! This is yours!"

"Uh... mum? There's a whole bottle of soap-"

"Upstairs, Dudley, in your room!"

"I... yes, Mum."

* * *

Dudley ran upstairs as fast he physically could. He tripped on the top stair, landing painfully on his ankle. He winced, gasping. He tried to get up, but he applied too much pressure on his ankle, causing him to fall back down.

* * *

Harry heard two loud thumps, just outside his door. Face pale, he cracked open his door, bright green eyes peering out it. When he saw Dudley slumped on the floor near the staircase, he hesitantly made his way out of his room to help his cousin. 

"Dudley?" he whispered, footsteps falling quietly on the hard, wooden floor. He began to worry when he only received a whimper in response. Harry dropped down to his knees, touching his cousin's shoulder. "Dudley, what's wrong?"

"Go 'way, Potter!" sniffled his cousin, turning his head.

"No! Come on, what's the matter?" Harry repeated.

Dudley sighed, sneering. "I tripped and I... can't get up."

_'That's the thump I heard, then.' _Harry nodded and slowly stood up. "Okay," he said. "Let me help you." Dudley shook his head silently. "Dudley, don't be daft-"

"I'm not daft, Potter!" he hissed. "I don't want your freaky hands-"

"It's not my fucking bottle, Petunia!"

"Don't speak to me that way, Vernon!"

"I'll speak to you however I bloody well please!"

"I'll sooner throw your sorry arse out of this house before I hear you using that foul sort of language around these children and me!"

"You will not throw _me_ out of _my_ house!"

Swallowing, Harry looked down at his cousin, who looked equally as scared as he did.

"C'mon, I'll move you to my room. It's nearest."

Grudgingly, Dudley allowed himself to be helped up, even leaning on the black-haired boy's shoulder as they went to his room. He moaned as he sat on the boy's made bed.

"Thanks," he mumbled, a red blush heating his round face.

"You're welcome," Harry said, shutting his door, sitting down beside it, his right ear pressed to it.

"Potter, what are you-"

"Quiet! I'm trying to listen to them."

"Oh," Dudley realized, nodding as he tried to make himself more comfortable on the lumpy mattress. "How the bloody hell do you sleep on this thing?"

"Shh!"

* * *

"Vernon, I will not have you drinking around here! I will not stand for it!" she yelled. 

"Then I won't!"

"What do you mean you won't?"

"I mean," Vernon sneered, stepping closer to his wife. "If you don't want me drinking around here, then I just won't stay here."

"What?" Petunia said, incredulous. "You mean you'll just up and leave?"

"I do."

"You can't!"

"I can. I bloody well can and you know it!"

"So you're going to pack your things, your _booze, _and walk out on me and my children?"

Vernon pushed his face in hers, an ugly smirk on his face. Petunia backed away uncomfortably.

"Watch me."

* * *

"Fucking hell..." Harry whispered disbelievingly. 

"What? What're they saying?"

"Your dad..."

"Yeah, what about him?" Dudley asked urgently.

Harry looked at his cousin, a serious expression on his young face. "He's leaving."

"What? You're lying, Potter!" Dudley told him accusingly, shaking his head.

"I am not! Your dad is leaving us!"

Dudley tumbled out of Harry's bed, rushing over to the shut door and sticking his ear to it, ignoring the sharp pain in his ankle.

* * *

"You stop right there, Vernon!" 

"Move out of my way!"

"No-!"

"Get out of the doorway!"

"I will not let you do this!"

"Petunia-"

"I will not let you walk out on us!"

"Get out of my fucking way, damn it!" Vernon screamed, putting his hands on her arm painfully.

"No!"

"MOVE!"

"Vernon, don't!"

* * *

From upstairs, Dudley and Harry gasped when they heard a loud crash. 

"Oh, no..."

* * *

A/N: Oh, this is just too much fun to write! Not because it is a fun subject, of course. It's so exciting. Review, please! 


	7. Panic

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Again, I cannot possibly thank you reviewers enough! Special thanks to all reviewers thus far: Sonia11, TEC, DebsTheSnapeFan, Padawan Jan-AQ, jabarber69, Coral Grace, phoenix, Lena Andromeda Black, KimSpiritTalks, fifespice, eyeinthesky, witherwings1972, Captured-by-you, u-have-1-face, and all of those who wish to remain anonymous. You people are wonderful, and I truly hope that you all continue to read, enjoy and review my story!

"_Destination Unknown" _

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 7: Panic

* * *

"Move, Dudley!" Harry demanded, jumping up, shoving the boy sitting beside him.

"Ow! What? You're really going down there?" his cousin asked, incredulous.

"Yes, I'm really going down there!" the black-haired teen said. .

"Are you out of your _mind_?" Dudley hissed, eyes big.

Harry paid him no mind and hastily unlocked his door. He kicked the door open with his foot as soon as the latch was undone.

"You've a bloody death wish! You're mad!" Dudley told him.

Angrily, Harry spun round and bit out, "I'm going down there to see if your mum is all right! God knows what your fucking dad's done to her!"

"My dad? He wouldn't ever hurt Mum-"

"Want to bet?" Harry said, turning around and starting hurriedly down the hallway. "I know what he's capable of!"

"_What? _Bloody Potter...doesn't have a damn clue." Shaking his head, Dudley painfully forced himself onto his feet, unsteadily chasing after his rail of a cousin.

When the large fourteen year old arrived downstairs, the other boy was already looking for Petunia and Vernon. Harry was running toward the kitchen, his untidy hair bouncing. Dudley frowned, his brows knitted, when the boy froze just outside the doorway. Fast as he could, he ran after him, freezing in place as well at the sight before him.

On the floor, motionless, sprawled across the tile near one of the dining table's legs, was his mother, and standing over her, purple-faced and wild-eyed, was his father.

Dudley couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe. He tried and tried and tried, but the tight knot in his throat was preventing him from taking in a breath. His own pain forgotten, he dropped next to his unmoving mother.

"M-mum?" he was finally able to croak. His heart leapt when her gray eyes fluttered open, looking at him for a brief second before slipping shut again. "Mum? N-no, wake up! Don't fall asleep! Open your eyes, Mum!" he begged.

Blue eyes pain-filled, Dudley looked up at his cousin, who was presently having a staring match with father.

Neither had breathed a word, made a sound. Then, Harry swallowed. Without looking back, he whispered, "Phone the police."

"But-" Dudley began.

"Go," Harry said, with more force this time. "_Now_."

At once, the light-haired boy sprang up, touching his mother's face softly as he did, and backed out of the kitchen. He found the old, yellowy, rotary phone in the sitting room and snatched it out of its receiver.

Finger in the dial, he spun the numbers round. Not a moment later, he heard a lady answer.

"I need the police, an ambulance, too," he said in a rush.

"What is your emergency?" the young woman asked, calm as could be. She sounded as though she was in her early twenties or so.

"My, my dad. He attacked my mum-"

"Attacked? With a gun, a knife-?"

"He pushed her, and now she's unconscious and she isn't moving and she won't open her eyes-!"

"Okay, address?"

"Number 4, Privet Drive. Near the playing fields."

"Number 4?"

"Yes, yes! Please, Miss, hurry! My mum-"

"Okay, you need to remain calm."

"_Calm_? How-"

"Calm down. Two cars and an ambulance are on the way."

* * *

Harry watched his uncle's eyes follow Dudley out of the kitchen. Once the other teen was gone, Vernon's eyes flew back to him. The Boy-Who-Live started when the man's mouth opened.

"You told her."

"I-"

"You told her, didn't you?"

"Uncle-"

"What did I say I'd do if you told her? If you told _anyone_?"

Harry took a step back when the man began moving closer to him.

"What did I say, boy?"

"Y-you... you said-"

"Hmm? Louder, Potter!" Vernon screamed.

"You said you'd..."

"Tell me what I said, boy!"

"You said you'd kill me, sir!"

"Indeed I did," the man sneered, nodding. "Indeed I did. You know what, Potter?"

Harry was quiet.

Vernon smirked, stepping closer. "That's exactly what I'm going to do now."

* * *

"And your name?"

Dudley watched his cousin and father through the sitting room doorway. He saw his father walking towards Harry, who was backing up.

"Hello? Are you still there?"

"I... uh, y-yes, ma'am, I'm still here," Dudley answered, blinking furiously.

"Is everything okay?" the lady asked.

"My dad. He's approaching my cousin."

"Your cousin-?"

"I think he's going to kill him! He _hates_ Potter!"

"Does your father have any weapons on his person?"

"I don't know!"

"I need you to calm-"

"I can't!"

Harry had reached the wall. Vernon was still moving, more quickly now. Rage filled Dudley when his father carelessly stepped over his mother.

* * *

"Oh, yes, Potter. You've been here far too long."

Tears were stinging Harry's green eyes. He knew it. He was going to die. This wasn't a dream, this was real.

"I've had to put up with you for years, and I'm _so_ sick of you!"

"Sir, pl-please don't-"

"No, no, Potter. You'd better keep quiet-"

"_Please_, sir-"

"Shut your fucking mouth, boy!" Vernon yelled, eyes bulging. "Just shut the bloody hell up!"

Harry whimpered when his uncle moved closer to him. The man was reaching in his back pocket. He was taking another step.

Then, something rather miraculous happened.

* * *

Petunia was dizzy, her vision slightly blurred. She blinked five times, and by the sixth blink, she could clearly make out her husband's large frame standing over her. Her gray eyes traveled to the right, where she could hear someone crying. She panicked when she realized it was her nephew.

"Yes, I think it's time you go see your parents. Three of you will be burning in Hell, I'm sure."

Vernon was pulling something shiny and thin out of his back pocket. _'A knife_,' she recognized suddenly with a jolt of fear.

* * *

"Are you scared, Potter?"

Harry didn't answer his uncle. Instead, he attempted to escape out the open doorway. Just a few paces to his right...

"You ought to be, you freak. I only have to wrap my hands around that neck of yours... or maybe I could do better..."

He moved his foot, inching his was toward the doorway. He thought that he might actually make it, but then his shoe squeaked on the floor. Vernon's head snapped down, and Harry watched as an ugly smirk crawled onto the man's lips.

"Oh, think you can get away, do you?"

Harry gasped as Vernon pulled a knife from his pocket, aiming it right at him. "NO!"

* * *

Dudley was screaming at the woman by this point.

"He's got a knife! Oh, Jesus, h-he's got a bloody knife!"

"Dudley, I need-"

"Hurry, oh God, please, hurry! He's going to kill Potter. Oh, fuck, he's really going to kill him! I... I've got to do something!"

"No, Dudley, do not... Dudley? Dudley, are you there?"

The phone bounced on its cord as it dangled from the receiver.

* * *

"Oh, don't, _please_, Uncle Vernon! _Please_, sir... .don't!" Harry cried, unaware of the tears streaming down his face.

Vernon raised the knife, starting towards his nephew.

"No! God, _please_!" Harry begged, a sob escaping his trembling form.

"Dad, stop!" came Dudley's voice from behind. "Don't!"

"Move, Dudley!" Vernon screamed, pushing his son away.

Dudley landed hard on his bottom and winced, tears burning his eyes. He blinked them away, however, when his father lunged forward suddenly at his sobbing cousin.

* * *

"Move, Dudley!"

Petunia forced herself up, leaning on her elbows. She gasped when she saw her son fall down. Shocked, she watched tears form in her boy's eyes.

No one, especially _not_ Vernon Francis Dursley, would _ever _hit _either _of her boys ever again.

Vernon charged forward, knife raised at Harry... and fell to the ground, just inches away from the raven-haired teen, and the knife on the floor.

It had required an extreme amount of effort and struggle, but Petunia, weak as she was, had managed to trip her crazed husband with one of her long, thin legs.

* * *

The fall the exceptionally beefy man took caused him to hit the cold tile with an earsplitting 'bang!'. The impact of the fall was, in fact, so hard that he was knocked out.

Harry and Dudley watched with round, teary eyes as Vernon landed face first onto the floor, barely a foot away from his nephew. Gasping, the boy quickly moved to away, near the older, slightly taller boy's side.

Narrow-eyed and tight-lipped, Petunia looked down her nose at the unmoving lump that was her husband. Sighing, she raised a shaky pale hand to her head, rubbing her face. Her thin hand moved to the back of her head. She winced when she applied pressure to the spot that had connected with the floor earlier. She paled a shade further when she felt something wet and sticky.

_'Blood_,' she realized, bringing her hand where she could see the deep, scarlet substance smeared across her fingers and her wedding band.

"Is he knocked out?" Harry whispered in the background.

"I-I think so," Dudley stuttered, "I'll check." Swallowing the knot in his throat, Dudley bent down, hesitant.

Petunia's eye caught her son's movement from the corner. "A-are the police on the way?" she breathed, bringing her eyes to the crying boys in front of her.

"They're coming, Mum... fast as they can," Dudley answered softly, wiping his eyes. Frowning, he peered at his father's face.

The man's eyes were shut, his mouth hanging open, his tongue thick in his mouth. Dudley could smell the bitter scent of beer in the man's strong breath.

"H-he's already had a drink today," he said, pulling away from the man,

Harry sniffed, muttering quietly, "Of course." Taking a shaky breath, he looked over at his aunt, confused when he saw her staring at her hand. "Aunt Petunia, what are you... Aunt Petunia, you're bleeding!"

"What?" Dudley's head snapped up instantly, worried eyes fixated on his mother. Hurriedly, he stepped right over his father to her. Harry followed.

"Mum, I... is that knocking-?"

"The police! They're here!" Harry shot up, sprinting to the front door. "I'll get the door!"

Dudley took hold of his mother's hand, blinking his eyes furiously. "Hold on, Mum. Help's coming."

Petunia squeezed his hand gently, looking him in the eye. "I love you, Dudley. Never forget that, darling."

The dam broke, the water pouring out. "I love you, too, Mum."

"She's in here! Please hurry, she's bleeding!" they heard Harry yell in the foyer.

"Calm down, lad. Show us to her, " said one voice.

"Where is the uncle?" asked another, this one deeper.

"In here, he's unconscious."

Harry and two uniformed men arrived in the kitchen on swift feet not a second later. One tall, black, thin, middle-aged, the other younger with pale, freckled skin, and hair so red that Harry could have sworn he was a Weasley.

The black officer walked over to Petunia and Dudley. He knelt down before them, seeing the blood that stained Petunia's clothes and hand. "Don't worry, madam," he told them, waving a paramedic over. "We'll take care of you."

* * *

A/N: Happy St. Patrick's Day! Thanks for reading.. Review please! 


	8. Disappointed

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

I am forever grateful to you reviewers! Thanks! And a very, very, very BIG 'thank you!' to the wonderul GonnaBeFamous, who was kind enough to help me out with some extremely frustrating technical difficulties.

__

"Destination Unknown"

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 8: Disappointed

* * *

"Thanks for lunch." 

"My pleasure, Arabella," said Margaret, smiling, her gray eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then, Margaret."

"Absolutely, Arabella. Take care, dear!"

The two old women waved at each other when Arabella Figg walked out of her lifelong friend's gate. She then sighed, looked both ways, and then crossed the street.

"Oi! Hello there, Mrs. Figg!"

"Hmm...?" Arabella turned her head, coming face to face with Margaret's husband, who was carrying a wrinkly, plastic bag. "Oh! Hello to you, too, Patrick!"

Patrick was a year older than his petite wife, him having just reached the ripe, old age of seventy-four. His once ginger hair had lost its color, and was presently a snowy white. His skin had lost its pigment, leaving his skin only a few shades darker than his hair. He was an elderly man physically, but Margaret had always said that her loony husband was a child at heart still. Patrick was always smiling, his ocean-blue eyes gleaming.

"Fancy seeing you today!"

"How could I ever stay inside on such a lovely day, Patrick?"

Patrick nodded. "Yes, yes... beautiful day, today. I assume you and Margie just ate?"

"We did indeed," she said, inclining her head. Her eyes traveled downwards, falling upon the bag in his hand. "What do you have there, Patrick?"

"Hmm? Sorry, love, I didn't catch that."

"That bag," she repeated, louder this time. "What's in it, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Ah!" Patrick's eyes widened. "I walked into town, to that store... you know, Arabella, the one that sells screws and bolts and the like."

"Grunnings?"

"Yes! Grunnings, that's the place. I frequent that store."

"Margaret's mentioned that from time to time."

"Has she now? Oh, she thinks I spend far too much time there," Patrick told her, shaking his head. "It isn't my fault, though, is it?"

"I don't know, Patrick. Is it?"

"It certainly is not," he answered, standing straighter than before. "The grandchildren are the ones who jump on the furniture, bounce off the walls, break things, drop things, raise hell. They're the reason I was at Grunnings today."

"Surely they aren't?"

"Oh, they are."

"What did they do, Patrick?"

Patrick frowned. "Owen and Jamie knocked down a few shelves yesterday when we were minding them. They were hanging on them, knocked some of Margaret's knickknacks off, broke a couple."

"That's terrible!"

"Well, yes... I promised Margie I'd fix the shelves today, so I ought go."

"Yes, yes, you ought." Arabella smiled and patted her friend's hand. "I'll see you tomorrow, perhaps?"

Patrick smiled. "I should be home for lunch tomorrow, unless the kiddies break something else, in which case I'll be at Grunnings."

Together they laughed. Nodding, Arabella chuckled, "Good bye, Patrick."

"Good day, Arabella."

The pair parted ways, one headed to his beloved wife, the other to her beloved cats.

* * *

"My husband, he knocked me down. My head hit the table corner as I was falling." 

"Ah, okay." The paramedic nodded, carefully examining the back of Petunia's head though her bushy, sticky hair. "From what I can tell, no major damage has been done, but I still think it best that you are taken to the hospital for an x-ray, to make sure that your skull hasn't been fractured."

"Oh, yes, of course," Petunia murmured, carefully nodding her head. When she moved to get up, the paramedic stopped her, rising to his own feet.

"Wait, let me help you," he said, blinking. The blonde man extended his hands to her, allowing her to be pulled up from the cold tile.

"Thanks," she whispered, clutching the man's arm in support. "Where are my children? Dudley and Harry? Where are they?"

"They're here, ma'am. They're safe and well-"

"Domestic violence! You are joking, yes? This is bloody ridiculous!"

"Sir, calm down. Get in the vehicle."

"This is rubbish, they're lying, they are! This is some bloody lie!"

"Again, sir, calm down. Duck your head, Mr. Dursley. Watch it... come on, sir."

Petunia stumbled across the kitchen, pulling the startled paramedic along with her to the nearest window.

"Ma'am, we really must get you to the hospital... ma'am? Come now, Miss, let's...let's go..."

In silence, they watched as two officers struggled to get Vernon to enter the back of their car.

* * *

"Thank you, boys. I appreciate your honesty. I know this must be very difficult for the pair of you." 

"I... it is, sir," Harry mumbled, Dudley nodding his head beside him in agreement.

The black officer, Officer Anthony Lennon, told them, "Hopefully things will begin looking up for you and your family soon. Best wishes, boys." He patted their shoulders as he left them to assist the two younger men across the yard.

Harry stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, sparing a glance up at his glassy-eyed cousin. Sniffling, he followed Dudley's gaze over to the police car. Vernon was almost completely inside of it, only his right leg dangled out the open door now.

"Better watch your back, Potter!"

"Sir, quiet-"

"I'll bloody kill you, you bloody liar! I'll do it next time!"

"Put your leg inside, Mr. Dursley! Now!"

"Dudley, son! How could you?"

"Dad..." whispered Dudley, lifting his hand slightly.

"You betrayed me, son! You and your mother both, you sided with that sodding freak!"

Harry took his cousin's hand gently, urging the boy to follow him inside. "C'mon, Dudley. We do not need to-"

"You've truly disappointed me, Dudders!"

"In the vehicle, sir! Immediately!"

The cousins jumped in the doorway when the car door was slammed shut loudly.

* * *

"Mrs. Dorsey-" 

"Dursley," she corrected quietly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. _Dursley_," the paramedic apologized. Shaking her arm, he said, "Mrs. Dursley, we really must get you in the ambulance right now."

Silently, Petunia allowed him to lead her to her front door, where they almost stumbled over the children.

"Oh, boys, there you are," she murmured as the two stepped out of her way. Dudley and Harry immediately followed them outside.

"So... so you're taking her to the hospital, then?" Harry asked the man, rubbing his nose.

The man nodded. "We need to do an x-ray, just to make sure nothing has been fractured. I don't believe she has, but, still, we must check."

"Oh, okay, I'll get the door!" Dudley scrambled backwards, reaching behind the door and locking it before quickly shutting it.

Just about, but not quite, five minutes later, after the quartet had climbed inside the back, the ambulance sped out of Privet Drive. By the time Arabella Figg had reached the other end of the street, the vehicle had disappeared around the corner in a white blur.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review. 

Also, I apologize if there are any errors in this. I've been having trouble uploading documents for awhile. I recieved some brilliant advice from GonnaBeFamous, she the reason this chapter is online. Anyway, hopefully this uploading problem will be fixed very soon. Until then, I am sorry if there are any errors (words lumped together, etc.).


	9. Surprises and Growth

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Again, thanks to everyone who takes the time to review!

"_Destination Unknown" _

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 9: Surprises and Growth

* * *

Petunia was released two hours later, a sticky, white bandage wrapped around her fracture-free head. A small cut was all she had received earlier. Now, she just had to wait for that bothersome plaster to be removed.

She and the boys took a cab home. When they arrived, they realized they were locked out and without a key.

"Oh, I should've remembered to grab it off the counter!" she groaned. She and Dudley stood tiredly at the door, scratching their heads.

Meanwhile, Harry was lifting up a nearby porcelain flowerpot, feeling underneath it.

"What are you _doing, _Potter?" Dudley asked, peering down at him, wearing the same confused look as his mother.

"Looking for something," Harry answered, pulling out a rusty, copper key. With care, he sat down the heavy pot and sprung to his feet.

"How did you know there was a spare key?" his cousin demanded, tiny eyes narrowed.

"Well, you see, Dudley, I've been locked out on more than one occasion," said Harry, glancing back pointedly as he unlocked the door. When he heard a 'click', he pushed the door open, allowing the others entrance, Dudley with a guilty look on his face. .

* * *

Time trickled by slowly that night. The three sat silently in the salon. Harry was reading the evening newspaper, out of which Dudley had stolen the cartoons. They read on the sofa while Petunia sat at the window, staring out at the dark street lamps.

Dudley had read the funnies twice. With a sigh, he put them on the cushion bedside him. Harry wordlessly picked the cartoon section up and put it back with the rest of the paper.

Groaning, Dudley leaned back into the cushion, absentmindedly watching the hands of clock beside his cousin turn.

"Ten-thirty six? That's all?" he mumbled, surprised.

"I know, time's passing by so slowly tonight," Harry said, folding up the paper and tossing it down on the coffee table. Sighing, he crossed his legs at the ankle, shutting his eyes.

That's when Harry felt it; a sharp pain in either of his legs. "Jesus!" he hissed, reaching down to clutch them.

Horror in his beady eyes, Dudley sprang up, gaping at the other boy's legs. Petunia, too, could not tear her eyes away.

"M-mum! Mum, he's... his legs are growing!"

Petunia got up, hurrying over to her nephew, bending down beside him.

"Potter, what on earth..."

"I... I don't know, Aunt Petunia. I-" Harry stopped, wincing as another wave of pain hit him, this time in his arms.

"You're growing, Harry!" Petunia exclaimed, watching in amazement as his arms grew roughly an inch longer. His legs had stopped, having grown a near three inches.

"Wow! Mum, why don't I ever see myself grow?"

"I don't know, Duddykins, I really haven't a clue." Frowning, she asked Harry, "Are you all right? Does it still hurt?"

Biting his lip, Harry shook his head. "Not at all anymore."

"That was wicked, Potter!"

"Is this the first time has happened, Harry?" asked Petunia.

"Not the first, no. It's actually happened quite a bit lately."

"Is it because you are..." Petunia wrinkled her nose. "Is it because you're one of _them_?"

Brows furrowed, Harry replied, "I... I'm not sure, to be honest. I suppose that might be why."

"Well, whatever the reason," Dudley said, "that was wicked!"

* * *

Like the day before, Friday went by at a snail's pace as well. They did not leave the house. Petunia occupied herself with cleaning, Dudley with the television, and Harry with the radio. Petunia went to bed early that Friday night, leaving the pajama-clad cousins alone in the sitting room, watching some late night show. The curtains were drawn, the lights dim. Harry sat, arms crossed, on one end of the sofa, Dudley on the other end, head in hand as he stared at the glowing television screen.

"You know, Chelsea slaughtered Manchester City last Saturday," the host was saying, "Four and zero, I believe it was. Bloody brilliant match."

Harry shifted, kicking his tired legs up onto the sofa. "Dudley?"

"Hmm... what, Potter?" Dudley said, eyes still glued to the screen.

"Are you still going to Saturday's game?"

"Well, Dad was supposed to drop me off, but now..."

Harry frowned. "He was supposed to take you only? What about Polkiss? I thought he was going with you."

The show went to commercial break, and Dudley finally looked at him as he replied, "Well, Piers got in trouble last night, actually."

"Yeah?"

Dudley nodded, rubbing his arms. "He and his little brother, Owen, they had a row, and apparently Piers shoved Owen and broke his wrist, so now his parents are making him stay home."

"Oh," said Harry, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah..." Dudley trailed off.

What happened next almost made Harry go into shock.

"Potter..." began the larger boy quietly. Harry acknowledged him with a nod. "You know, I've got that extra ticket now, so... if you wanted to... I suppose you could go with me."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"

Chewing his lip, Dudley nodded slowly. "Seriously."

For the first time in few days, Harry smiled. A real, true smile. "I want to go, then."

His cousin surprised him yet again with a tiny smile of his own. "Okay," he said, "Brilliant."

* * *

Harry arrived in his bedroom late that night to find Pig, Ron's owl, at his window. Pig was not nearly as hyperactive as he was on his last visit to Number Nine Privet Drive. He had apparently been taught his lesson, and approached Harry with caution. Silently, Harry untied the letter and put it on his bed. He went to find his owl treats, but saw that Pig had already flown out his window on his way back to the Burrow. A very Snape-ish smirk crawled onto Harry's face as he dropped down onto his bed, still watching the bird.

"What does Ron have to say, I wonder," he murmured to himself, ripping open the seal and pulling out the folded letter.

_'Harry, _

_Hey, mate. How have things been lately? The Dursleys had better be treating you well. Fred and George's offer still stands, you know. _

_Anyway, I am writing to you, begging you to ask your relatives once more if you can come stay with us for the rest of the summer. I'm going nutters here with Hermione and Ginny here. I have to listen to them go on and on and on about skirts and boys and shoes. I'm going positively insane._

_Hermione's going, you know. It won't feel right if you are not there as well! You have to go to the World Cup with us! Viktor Krum will be playing, mate! VIKTOR BLOODY KRUM!_

_So, Harry, mate, old pal of mine... please ask the Dursleys to let you stay with us! _

_Desperately, _

_Ron' _

Harry placed the letter on his nightstand, staring at it whilst biting his lip. '_I'll write back in the morning. Hedwig is already asleep, anyway.' _

Surely, Aunt Petunia would let him go. Now that Vernon was gone, she might really consider it, right?

"Sure hope so," Harry muttered, taking off his glasses. He put them on the nightstand before feeling for the string and switching off his lamp

* * *

A/N: Again, rather uneventful, but thanks for reading!

I have recently been told that this current pace I'm going at is rather slow, and I will admit that I can understand that, so I'm going to try and make this go a little faster and little less sluggish.

Snape will make his appearance soon, I swear. He _is_ going to be a major part of this story. Again, I will try to move a bit more quickly.


	10. Weasels in the Hearth, Part One

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Thank you, reviewers! You all rock.

I've had a few questions regarding Harry's sudden change in appearance. Well... I can't really answer that without giving away some major stuff, so... I suppose you will just have to keep reading to find out! Though, I think some of you already know what is going on, you clever ones.

__

"Destination Unknown"

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 10: Weasels in the Hearth, Part One

* * *

"I can't believe they lost!" 

"I told you they would, Dudley."

"Well, yeah... still...the final score was three, nil. Just what you said it would be!"

"I told you," said Harry in a sing-song voice, grinning toothily.

"Are you psychic, Potter?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You're serious?"

"Yes, Potter! Can't your kind, you know... are there people who can see the future? Fortune tellers?"

"There are psychics in the wizarding world. They're called Seers," Harry said, kicking a pebble as they walked to the bus station. "And I'm definitely not one. At least, I don't think I am."

"These people, they actually know what's going to happen in the future?" Dudley asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Not all of them are true Seers. Most of them are frauds. Maybe there are a few who can really see the future. Maybe. Oi, there's the bus, just now!"

Dudley nodded, picking up his pace. "Yeah, let's hurry. I think we can make it."

The two cousins jogged across busy street, Harry tugging the older boy's arm all the way. "Do you have enough to get us to High Street?"

"Yeah," Dudley panted, licking his lips. "Yeah, I do."

After paying the fare, they took their seats at the back of the bus. "So," Harry said, checking his rusty watch. "We've got approximately twenty-seven minutes to get home."

"Are you kidding? It's seven-thirty already?" Dudley asked, eyes wide. "Jesus, Mum is going to kill us!"

"No, she won't, Dudley," Harry told him. _'No, she'll _slaughter_ us!' _"We'll make it on time. The bus ride should take about fifteen minutes, and if we get off on High Street and walk from there, that'll be another ten-"

"If we sprint!"

"And sprint we shall!"

"But!" Dudley cried, "But I'm already so tired!"

"Oh, stop your whinging, Dudders-!"

"Don't call me that!" Dudley interrupted, clearly angry. Harry, taken aback, wisely shut his mouth. "_Do not _call me Dudders_'!"_

"Dudley, I'm-"

"Excuse me, will you two please be quiet?" came the annoyed voice of the round lady of about fifty seated a row ahead of them.

Dudley crossed his arms and glared. Meanwhile, Harry turned to the woman, having the decency to blush. "We are sorry, ma'am," he said quietly, embarrassed.

The woman only scowled and turned back around, muttering something about "bloody kids" and "gormless nippers". Harry hesitantly looked at Dudley, whose own face was an odd shade of red.

"I'm sorry, Dudley. I didn't mean to upset you so," he whispered, stealing a quick glance at the back of the round woman's head.

Dudley was looking out the window, obviously trying to block the other boy out.

Harry tried again. "Dudley? Dudley, really, I am sorry."

Jerkily, Dudley nodded. "I know, I know," the plump boy mumbled finally. Sighing, he turned round to Harry, still not quite meeting his eye. "Potter... please, just don't call me that."

"Okay... right, I won't do it again."

"D'you promise?"

"I promise," Harry swore, nodding his raven-haired head.

Rubbing his arm, Dudley looked up, meeting Harry's gaze. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Why though?"

"Huh?"

"Why don't you want me to call you that?" Harry asked, curious. "I've always called you that-"

"Well, so has Dad!"

The wrinkles on Harry's brow smoothed out as realization dawned.

Shoulders slumped, Dudley sat back on the bus seat, eyes shut tiredly. "Just don't call me that, okay?"

An unusual feeling of sympathy for his heavy cousin filled Harry, and it startled him.

* * *

At approximately eight twenty-two, they had finally reached Number Four Privet Drive. They were greeted by three little words... those three, little, _dreaded_ words. 

"You are late!"

The boys shared a long, uncomfortable glance. His Adam's apple bobbling, Dudley mustered his courage and managed to say, "Err... yes. Yes, indeed."

"Yes," Harry said, scratching his ear. "Yes, ma'am, Aunt Petunia. We are late."

"I was _sick_ with worry!"

"Aunt Petunia-"

"It was Harry's fault!"

Eyes wide, Harry furiously cried "What?!"

"Twenty minutes late! One would think that the pair of you would at least try to stay out of trouble, especially after this rotten week we've had!"

Chastised, Harry and Dudley exchanged guilty looks, heads hanging low. "Sorry," Dudley whispered, not meeting his mother's eyes.

"We're sorry, Aunt Petunia," Harry told her softly.

Aunt Petunia raised an eyebrow and crossed her long, bony arms. Harry and Dudley slowly lifted their heads. The three stared at each other for a quiet moment, two confused, one expecting an answer.

"_Well_...?" Petunia said, exasperated.

"Well what?" Dudley asked stupidly, his pig-like nose scrunched up. Harry, ever the wise one, remained silent, wincing as he found a now oozing pimple on the back of his ear. Wincing, he waited for his aunt to continue.

"What took you two so long?"

Scratching his nose, Harry began, "Ah, the, uh..."

"You see-"

"Traffic-"

"The bus, we missed it!"

"Yes! Yes, and so we had to run to catch it up!"

Dudley nodded up and down feverishly. "We had to _beg_, Mum! _Beg_ to be let on!"

Petunia, thin lips pursed, stared at them, clearly unconvinced. Tiredly, she sighed, rubbing her bloodshot eyes.

"Mum, we _begged_!"

"Fine," Petunia groaned, practically pushing them upstairs. "Fine. That's enough for tonight, go up and wash. Then, straight to bed!"

Horrified, Dudley opened his mouth to protest, but a swift elbow to the gut shut him up, and Harry dragged the wheezing teenager upstairs with him.

* * *

Petunia checked on either boy a half hour later, making certain they were both asleep and sound. She was disappointed to see that Harry was still awake, on his side as he watched the clouds pass over the starry sky, hiding the bright moon for minutes at a time. 

"Potter... Harry, why are you still up?"

Startled, his head snapped back, shadowed face staring at his aunt's silhouette in the doorway. "Aunt Petunia!"

"Shh," she hushed him, walking closer to him. "Why aren't you asleep?"

Sitting up, Harry pulled his ratty blanket up to his chest, heart beating rapidly against it still. In a whisper, he told her, "I can't sleep. It's, ah... too-"

"Early?" she supplied with a smirk.

He was glad it was dark in his room, for he knew he was blushing. Embarrassed, he muttered, "Yes, ma'am."

Stifling a yawn, Petunia plopped down at the foot of his bed. She said, "Well, I suppose since you're up, I might as well go ahead and ask."

"Ask me what?"

Sighing, she continued, "Do you remember asking if you could stay with your friend for the remainder of the summer?"

"Oh, with Ron?"

She ran a hand through her hair as she shook her head. "Yes, yes, I suppose he's the one," Petunia yawned, shrugging her narrow shoulders.

Hope filling him, Harry sat up straighter, biting his lip. "I do remember, yes, Aunt Petunia," he told her delightedly, nodding his raven head.

"I've reconsidered, and-"

"_And_?" Harry asked quickly, leaning forward excitedly. Cocking an eyebrow, Petunia gave him 'the look'.

"Sorry," he said impatiently, waiting eagerly for her to continue.

"You can go."

For the first time he could recall ever doing so in his life, Harry sprang forward and wrapped his arms around his aunt's thin waist. It was awkward, and Harry didn't know what in Merlin's name had possessed him to do it. Apparently, neither did Petunia, but after a few tense, quiet seconds, she returned the embrace, a strange look upon her face.

A seemingly long minute passed by before the pair released each other, sitting back uneasily, awkwardly.

Finally, Harry said, sheepishly, "I ought to write him."

Jerkily, Petunia nodded, rising up from the creaky bed. "You ought to, yes." Harry smiled slightly. "Well..."

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

On bare feet, she padded to the doorway, bidding him goodnight before leaving her nephew's room.

* * *

"So, like, the fireplace is going to flare up, and then, they're just going to pop out? Unhurt, no less?" 

"Yes, Dudley," Harry sighed, rolling his eyes. "I've told you this already!"

"Look, Potter, I'm a mug, so I don't know all about this Floo business!"

As he checked to make sure he had his school work and texts, Harry said, "You're not a _mug, _Dudley."

"Then what am I? I'm certainly not a wizard!" Dudley huffed, crossing his thick arms across his broad chest.

"Muggle. You are a _muggle_," Harry told him for the seventh time that morning. "Where's my bloody Potions book?" he muttered, irritated.

"Language!" Petunia called from the kitchen.

Through Dudley's snickering, Harry replied, annoyed, "Yes, Aunt Petunia. I'm sorry."

With a smirk, Dudley snorted. "Bloody suck up."

"Dudley!"

Wide-eyed, the huge boy gasped, "Mum, I didn't-!"

"_Dudley_!"

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry, Mum!" Dudley shouted finally, exhaling sharply through his nose.

In a high-pitched voice, Harry mocked, "Mum, I di-didn't!" His face turned bright red when his voice cracked halfway through it, though, and with a Snape-ish scowl, he threw a sofa cushion at his laughing cousin. Dudley caught it and returned it, just barely missing his mother as she entered the sitting room.

"I, umm... sorry, Mum," he mumbled, glaring at the grinning bespectacled boy across the room.

Lips pursed, Petunia sighed and wordlessly sat down in the chair nearest the windows.

"When are the Weasels supposed to get here anyway?" Dudley asked, flopping down on the nearby sofa.

"The _Weasleys,_" Harry told him, shaking his head, _"_are supposed to get here at a quarter to noon."

"Oh, okay. Mum?"

"Yes, Duddykins?"

"I'm hungry."

"We just ate, darling!" Petunia said, incredulous. "Surely you've had enough already?"

"But-!"

"Dudley, you can wait for dinner. Maybe, if you're good, I'll let you have a biscuit before."

Grunting, Dudley turned away from her, opting to flip on the television instead. Just as soon as he reached for the remote, a fire roared in the hearth. "What on earth?!" he squealed.

Petunia was startled, to say the least. Her eyes were wide, her eyebrows at her hairline. Inwardly, Harry was howling with laughter. He only wished he had a photo of his aunt and cousin's faces.

"Weasleys are here," he smiled, standing up.

* * *

A/N: Well, another chapter finished! I hope you've enjoyed it. Let me know by reviewing! Thanks! 

And the title of this chapter is... a little disturbing maybe? **:D** Again, let me know!


	11. Weasles in the Hearth, Part Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

As always, I'd like to thank my wonderful readers for reading, my reviewers for reviewing, and my toaster for toasting toasty toast. Thank you.

_"Destination Unknown"_

by Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 11: Weasels in the Hearth, Part Two

* * *

"Oh... my... God..." 

Standing in the smoky fireplace were two people, both with flaming-red hair, which was presently sprinkled with bits of ash. Ron Weasley and his father, Arthur Weasley, carefully stepped out of the hearth, waving smoke from their faces and brushing their clothing.

"H-hey, Ha-Harry!" Ron managed between coughs, with a grin.

"Ron, Mr. Weasley." Harry nodded, approaching the pair, smiling. Firmly, he shook extended Mr. Weasley's hand.

"Nice to see you again, Harry," the balding man told him, giving his hand one final squeeze before letting go.

"Likewise, sir," Harry replied.

"So, mate," Ron said, nodding at Dudley and Petunia, who still were gaping, eyes fixed upon their fireplace. "They're your relatives, yeah?"

"Oh! Yes. Sorry, I'll introduce you." Harry led the two redheads over to the Dursleys, who tried not to appear so startled. "Aunt Petunia, Dudley, this is Ron Weasley, my best mate, and his father, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley, Ron, this is my aunt, Petunia Dursley, and my cousin, Dudley Dursley."

"A pleasure to meet you both, Mrs. Dursley, Dudley." Mr. Weasley nodded curtly and shook both Dursleys' hands. Ron sent Harry a puzzled look before following his father's actions.

Aunt Petunia, looking quite uncomfortable, inclined her head. "Pleased to meet you."

"Later," Harry mouthed to Ron, who gave a slight nod.

Mr. Weasley raised his wrist and checked his rusty, silver watch. "Merlin, look at the time! Two minutes 'til they close the Floo connection. Ron, be a good lad and help Harry with his trunk, won't you?"

Ron nodded and turned to his black-haired friend. "Yes, Dad. What do you want me take? Hedwig or your trunk?"

"Uh, Hedwig, please."

"Sure, mate." Ron carefully picked up the snowy owl's cage, trying not to wake the sleeping bird inside.

"Boys, we'll Floo one at a time, understood? Right, then, Ron, you're first. Harry, you'll be next. Go on and bid your family farewell."

Harry looked up from his trunk. He pushed himself up, rubbing his arm as he heard his friend Floo away in the background. Slowly, he went to the Dursleys.

"Well... I suppose I'll see you both next summer," he said, surprised to find that he actually just might _miss_ them, if only a little.

Aunt Petunia looked as though she were thinking the same, exact thing.

"Yes, yes..." she said quietly, nodding.

Dudley stunned him by clapping his shoulder, like he often did with Piers. "Bye, Pott- bye, Harry."

"Goodbye, Dudley," he replied, eyebrows raised. A small smile crawled its way onto Harry's face as he continued, "Maybe next summer I can change your mind about Tottenham, yeah? I'll... I'll make a Blues fan of you yet!"

Dudley grinned widely and shook his round head. "I think not, Harry! Besides, everyone knows that the game on Saturday was fixed."

Harry couldn't help but snort, rolling his green eyes. "Yeah... sure, Dudley. You keep believing that."

"I don't mean to rush you, Harry, but... truly, we must be quick," Mr. Weasley said suddenly, looking apologetic.

Licking his chapped lips, Harry nodded as he looked at his aunt. Without warning, she stepped forward, wrapping her bony arms around his waist. She lingered a moment, murmuring, "Be careful, Harry. Please, stay in touch."

Brows furrowed, Harry nodded into her shoulder, loving the feeling of this. Never, _ever _could he recall having been held like this. At this moment, Petunia Dursley seemed rather... motherly?

he wondered, returning the embrace. 

Then, quite quickly, Petunia pulled back. Startled, he returned his arms to his sides. He ran a long-fingered hand through his soft hair and said, "I'll write, Aunt Petunia. I swear."

Blinking, she gave a jerky nod. "Goodbye, Harry."

"Bye, Harry," Dudley said.

"G-goodbye," Harry said quickly, grabbing his trunk and stepping into the fireplace hurriedly.

A red, rusty tin was held before him, containing a fine, green powder. "Take only a pinch, Harry," Mr. Weasley told him sternly. "Floo powder isn't cheap."

Shakily, he grabbed a bit of Floo powder and cleared his throat. "The Burrow!" he yelled hastily, finding it difficult to watch his relatives wave at him, his aunt with suspiciously shiny eyes.

* * *

"Oh, Harry! Look how you've grown, dear! And your hair, good Merlin, Harry! Look at your hair! It's so nice, now. Not so untidy anymore, is it?" 

"Nice to see you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry wheezed as the plump, red-haired woman pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. He grinned when Hermione and Ginny came downstairs to greet him.

"Harry, I'm so glad you're finally here!"

"Me, too, Hermione," he said, returning her (thankfully!) much gentler embrace.

Almost sheepishly, Ginny approached him, a small smile on her freckled face. "Hi, Harry," she said quietly.

Hermione released Harry and shared a knowing look with Mrs. Weasley when he pulled Ginny into an embrace.

"Lovely seeing you, Ginny," Harry told the red-haired girl as he pulled back. Ginny blushed, brushing her bangs from her eyes.

"How've you been, Har-?"

BANG!

Everyone stood in silence for an odd moment, their eyes wide, their bodies still. Then, Mrs. Weasley came to her senses.

"FRED, GEORGE!"

From the hallway popped a pair of red heads. Then, peeped two sets of blue eyes, then wrinkled noses, then mouths that were pulled into toothy, impish grins.

"Yes, oh, lovely-"

"Wonderful-"

"Beautiful-"

"Radiant-"

"Mother of ours?"

Mrs. Weasley pursed glared at the twins, her hands on her hips. "Oh, don't even try and worm your way out of this, boys! What on earth did you two manage to blow up this time?"

Silence.

"Well?"

The twins scratched their ears, looking anywhere but their fuming mother.

"_Well_?"

Finally, George spoke up. "Mum, you know that ugly-"

"Horrid-"

"Despicable-"

"Thing that Dad brought home yesterday?"

Mrs. Weasley furrowed her brows. Harry, Hermione and Ginny just looked at each other, relieved that they were not in the twins' position. The trio jumped when Mrs. Weasley suddenly gasped.

"Oh, Merlin's beard! Oh, sweet Merlin! _BOYS_! You _did not _break my new vase!"

Fred and George sprinted down stairs, past their red-faced mother, and out the front door.

* * *

At dinner that night, the fight continued. 

"It just fell off the table, Mum!" Fred said, swallowing a mouthful of peas.

"The table's rickety!"

"We were testing our latest invention."

"Pocket Rockets!"

"They're wicked brilliant, you know."

"Or, well, they will be-"

"Once we've perfected them!"

Mrs. Weasley huffed, putting her fork down. "That vase was expensive! Your father bought it for me as a gift! I got it only yesterday, and already you two have managed to destroy it!"

"We'll buy you a new one, Mum!"

"A better one!"

Mr. Weasley shook his head and got up from the table, empty plate in hand. "You two need to be more careful. We cannot have you blowing up all of our possessions, ruining the furniture, driving us mad!"

Ron and Harry grinned at the twins' antics. Ron shook his head and pushed away his plate. He asked, "Mum, what's for pudding?"

Mrs. Weasley looked up at her standing husband. "Arthur, dear, bring us that pie, won't you, please?"

"Absolutely, Molly," the tall, balding man said as he picked the round tin up off the countertop.

"Wow!"

"Oh, that smells lovely!"

"What kind is it?"

Mrs. Weasley thanked Mr. Weasley as he sat down, taking the pie from his hands. "Calm down, everyone. Hush, now. You'll all get a slice, tiny though it may be. I'll be needing to make a trip to the store soon. We're almost out of flour and sugar."

Fred and George each wiped their forks with their napkins, rubbing off bits of potato and peas. Mr. Weasley saw them, and shook his head.

"Boys, no pudding tonight," he told them, ignoring their protests. "You'll go on to bed. We all need to rise early tomorrow if we're going to make it to the World Cup in time."

Harry couldn't hide his grin at hearing that. Ron nudged him, grinning as well. Neither one of them could wait for the next day.

"But, Dad!"

"That's, that's simply-"

"Not at all fair!"

Mr. Weasley put up one hand. "No complaints. You two broke your mother's vase. It was not cheap, you know. That was a special gift for her."

The twins grimaced. "But, still!"

"Dad, no pudding?"

"Sending us to bed early?"

One of Mr. Weasley's bushy eyebrows raised. "Would you two rather stay home tomorrow with your mother tomorrow and miss the World Cup? I'm certain your mother and I can come up with a long list of chores-"

The sound of scraping was heard as the twins pushed their chairs back, jumping to their feet, dishes in hand.

"You know, Dad, no pudding sounds like a decent enough punishment, wouldn't you say, George?"

"Aye, Fred. I would."

Harry and Ron stifled their laughter as the twins frantically emptied their dishes into the sink. Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes, though Harry could plainly see that they were both hiding smiles.

"Good night, all!" Fred called as he dashed upstairs, his brother close behind.

Catching himself before he toppled down to the floor, George yelled, "We'll see you in the morning!"

Mrs. Weasley sighed as she put the last thin slice of the pie on her plate. Harry cut a piece of his slice with his fork and raised it to his mouth, smiling when he realized it was his favorite pie; apple. Quickly, he ate it, savoring each bite.

"This is delicious, Mum!" Ginny said with a smile.

"Your pies are always to die for, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione agreed before taking another bite. "This is heavenly."

"You are a genius in the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, elbowing Ron in the ribs when the boy rolled his blue eyes.

Mr. Weasley wiped his face with his napkin. "I concur, Harry. I'm blessed to have married such an incredible woman," he said with a grin, leaning over to kiss his wife's cheek.

Ron pretended to gag, while Harry smiled slightly. He could imagine his own parents in place of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. _'Could Mum bake?' _he wondered.

"All right, everyone finished?" Mrs. Weasley asked, drawing him out of his reverie.

"Yes, ma'am," was chorused.

"Very well, get to bed then. Harry, you'll be staying with Ronnie. A cot has already been set up in his room."

Harry grinned at Ron, who was blushing profusely as they made their way upstairs. "Come on, _Ronnie_," he said, "let's get to sleep."

Ron groaned. "Harry, come on, don't start, _please_. Let's just go to bed. I'm tired."

* * *

"So, how's your summer been so far, Harry?" Ron asked as they lay in their beds. 

Harry stiffened. _'What do I say?' _Nothing about Vernon, if he could help it, he decided.

"Harry, are you asleep, mate?" Ron whispered.

"No, no... sorry," Harry answered, pulling his blanket up to his chest. "Uh, summer's been okay, I suppose. Nothing really has happed, to be honest."

"Yeah?"

Biting his lip, Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"Same here, mate. Mum's killing us with chores. It's like the list of them never ends, you know?"

Harry snorted. "I know. Believe me, I know bloody well. The Dursley's give me these ridiculously long lists of chores. It's humanly impossible for one person to complete them in just one day."

"Yeah... well, I suppose I'm lucky to have the twins and Ginny to help. You've only got that ruddy cousin, Doug. That is his name, right?"

"No, Dudley."

"Ah, right. Well, he doesn't help much at all, does he?"

"Acthually," Harry said through a yawn. Rubbing his droopy eyes, he began once more. "_Actually, _he has started helping some. He and I have been getting along pretty well recently."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Ron paused to stifle his own yawn. "Say, Harry, where was your uncle today? I didn't see him."

Harry pulled a face, thankful that the lights were out. "Uncle Vernon, you mean?"

"Err... yes..."

"Oh, he's... away on a, uh, business trip. In Wales."

"Wales?"

Nose wrinkled, Harry said, "Yeah, Wales."

"Oh..."

A sharp knock on Ron's door startled them both. "Go to sleep, boys!" came Mr. Weasley's deep voice.

"Yes, sir!" they called.

Both boys pulled their blankets over them, adjusted their pillows so they were comfortable.

"Good night, Harry," Ron yawned.

"'Night, Ron."

* * *

A/N: I apologize for not posting sooner. Hopefully, you guys liked this chapter, though it was rather uneventful. I'm trying to move things along so the story doesn't become boring. _Anyway, _please, leave a review and tell me what you think! 


	12. We Are The Sleepyheads

Disclaimer: Harry Potter _still_ does not belong to me. Can you believe it? No money is being made from this.

You reviewers are the absolute best, don't you know? Seriously. Thank you so, so much! Every review means so much to me.

_"Destination Unknown"_

by Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 12: We Are the Sleepyheads

* * *

"Harry, Ronald! Wake up!"

Ron rolled over, throwing his arm over the edge of his mattress. "Ugh...All right, Dad!"

"Get up, boys! _Now_!"

Rubbing his eyes, Ron slowly sat up. His blue eyes half-closed, he yawned loudly. "Harry... Harry, man, we've got to get up... Dad's screaming his bloody head off."

Moaning, Harry stretched his legs, propping himself up on one elbow. Blindly, he found his glasses on the shelf above his head. "What time is it?" he asked, blinking as his taped up glasses adjusted his vision.

"About a quarter 'til," Ron said, rubbing his face. When he put his hand down, he saw his friend, and blinked. Then blinked once more. "What the bloody hell?" he whispered.

Harry had his head down as he stumbled out of his bed. He attempted to smooth down his wild, black hair as he asked, "A quarter 'til what, Ron?"

"Uh... uh, Harry... Merlin..."

Harry furrowed his brows. "What's wrong?"

"Harry, mate... your face, it's changed!"

"Oh," Harry nodded. "What's different this time?"

Ron looked stunned. "What do you mean, _this time_? Harry, something's happened... wait." Ron's blue eyes widened. "Fred and George didn't slip something into dinner last night, did they? Oh, no! Harry, my face, it's not weird, is it?"

"No, Ron, nothing's wrong with your face," Harry said, looking around the room. "Where's the ruddy mirror?" he grumbled.

"On the back of the door, behind my Cannons' coat," Ron said, making up his bed lazily. "What did you mean, 'this time'? You mean you've been changing like this lately? Not just getting taller, getting hairy, but changing?"

Ruffling his hair, Harry found the mirror. It was dusty, with a few scratches here and there. After taking Ron's Chudley Cannons coat off of his hook, he studied his appearance. There was something different, certainly, but... what was it?

"Yeah, I don't know what's been happening to me. My nose, it seems a bit longer, and my eyes, they're still green, but their shape... I really don't know what's going on. It started the beginning of this summer. You know, a few weeks ago, I actually saw my hands grow!"

"You what?" Ron looked incredulous.

"My fingers, Ron, they grew before my eyes! I literally _saw _myself grow!"

"I don't think that's normal. Not even for wizards!" the freckled boy said, shaking his head.

"It's happened more than once, you know. Aunt Petunia and Dudley have seen it as well."

"Spooky, that is, mate. I've _never_ seen myself get taller or anything-"

"BOYS!"

Suddenly, Mr. Weasley pounded on the door again, scaring Harry so badly, he fell on floor.

Sighing, Ron yelled, "We're up, Dad! We're coming!"

"You two need to wash up and get dressed. We're leaving right after breakfast!"

"Yes, sir!" they called back in unison.

Ron gathered a shirt and trousers hurriedly. Harry flung open his trunk, wincing as he stubbed his thumb.

"Ow!"

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked as he tried to find a pair of matching socks.

"Yeah," the younger boy answered, rubbing his thumb.

Ron held up a black sock, along with a navy blue one. "Hey, Harry?"

"What?" he said, placing his day clothes on his bed and shutting his trunk, more carefully this time.

"Can you tell that these are different?" the redhead asked, looking at his socks thoughtfully.

Harry shrugged his bony shoulders. "Just barely, but no one will able to see. Your trousers should cover them, yeah?"

Ron nodded. "Probably. Right, well, let's get ready."

* * *

"You've got everything?"

"Yes, Molly, dear. We've everything."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, hands on hips. "Right, then, you all had better get going! You're meeting with Amos Diggory and his boy, yes?"

"We are. You kids ought to know Diggory's boy, he's starting his fifth year this fall," Mr. Weasley said as they prepared to leave that morning.

Hermione's brown eyes narrowed as she held her purple, canvas pack. "Do you mean Cedric Diggory, Mr. Weasley?"

"Ah, yes! Cedric, that's his name. Yes, he's a nice boy. Quite clever, if I do remember correctly."

Harry, Ron and the twins were each hugged by Mrs. Weasley. "Behave yourselves, and stay with each other. Do not wander," she had told them. To Ginny and Hermione, she said, "Stay with the boys, and keep your bags close. Make sure your money is deep in your pockets!"

"We will, Mum!" Ron said impatiently as he threw his old, burgundy bag over his shoulder.

Hands on her hips, Mrs. Weasley took a step back, glaring at her youngest son, whose face was quickly turning red. "Ronald Weasley, calm down for just a minute! Let me tell your father goodbye. Then, you can get going!"

Thoroughly chastised, Ron looked down at his scruffy shoes. Though he was watching Hermione and Ginny shake their heads, Harry's mind was in an entirely different place.

he thought. In his head, he could picture his mother, Lily Evans-Potter, with her long, wavy, red hair, and her startlingly green, almond-shaped eyes. _'My eyes_... _that's really the only feature I have that is hers,' _he realized.

Ever since the day he had first stepped foot in Hogwarts, people had told him just how like his father he was. He looked just like James Potter, practically, and he was just as brilliant a Quidditch player as James Potter had been. His hair was his father's. His mouth was his father's. His nose and ears and hands and just about everything else about him, physically, was his father's.

Now that he thought about it, _really_ thought about it, he realized, with a start, that he really didn't know much about his mother. _'I have her eyes... what else?' _he wondered

What had his mother been good at? How did she act?

"You'll be careful?"

"We'll be careful."

"Promise, Arthur?"

"Molly, I promise."

"Right, then." Molly nodded, giving her husband's hand one last squeeze. "Off you go, then! Wouldn't want to be late, would you?"

"We certainly wouldn't," Arthur said, chuckling. "All right, kids. Let's go."

With wide grins, Harry and Ron followed Mr. Weasley.

* * *

The Weasleys, the Diggorys, and Harry all arrived at the Quidditch World Cup almost an hour later. The trip, for the most part, had been rather pleasant. Everyone had sweat upon their brows, mud on their shoes. The twins had found daffodils along the way, as they'd marched through a forest, and either one had plucked one from its stem and placed it behind an ear. Ginny and Hermione could not stop giggling, especially not after the twins started singing Weird Sisters' songs.

The Diggorys bid everyone farewell upon arriving at the stadium. Harry was surprised how relieved he felt when they had left to go set up their tent. He hadn't liked the way Cedric had been staring at Ginny.

After several minutes of searching, Mr. Weasley had spotted a place to set up their own tent. "Well, boys and girls," he said. "I'll get everything ready here. You lot can explore outside, if you'd like. You'll split into groups... uh, Fred, George, you two will stay together. You've got your wands, yes?"

The twins nodded as one. "We do," they said.

Mr. Weasley nodded his balding head. "Very well, you two can go on," he told them, moving his gaze to the remaining four children. "You four, stick together. You've all got your wands, right?" They all nodded. "Right, then... be careful."

Ginny hugged her father. "Don't worry, Dad."

"We'll be fine, Mr. Weasley," Hermione assured him, following Harry and Ron. She stopped to wait up for Ginny, who came running after them just seconds later.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will be posted soon! Please, review! Thanks, everyone!

By the way, can you believe it? One day til _the_ day! _ONE_! I can't wait. Deathly Hallows, oh, how I long to hold thee...


	13. At the Qudditch World Cup

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Thanks again, you wonderful people! You reviewers are so awesome.

_"Destination Unknown"_

by Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 13: At the Quidditch World Cup

* * *

Presently, Ginny was dragging Hermione to face-paint stall. "You'll love it, 'Mione! I'm getting a hawk. We're rooting for Bulgaria, yeah?" Harry had heard Ginny tell their bushy-haired friend. "That's the team Viktor Krum is on!" 

"Who is Viktor Krum?" Hermione had asked...

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron were at a stall that sold key chains and badges. Harry had already purchased a 'Go Bulgaria!' hat. He insisted up on buying one for Ron, and eventually, the other boy allowed it.

Ron was looking through Chudley Cannons merchandise, pinning badges on his collar to see which one he liked best.

"What do you think about this one, Harry?" he asked his friend, who was rifling through Puddlemere United key chains.

Harry looked up, his green eyes meeting the flashy, bright red badge that Ron now wore. "Blimey, Ron! That one's too bright! It's blinding me."

"Really?"

"Yes, yes! Put it down!"

Ron huffed. "Okay, I'll take it off!" he mumbled, quickly unpinning it from his collar. "There, it's off... say, what about this one?"

"Potter, Weasley?" came a Scottish man's voice suddenly.

The two boys turned around, startled. "Yes, sir?"

The man was tall, with an athletic body, and had short, dark brown hair, and equally brown eyes. He was wearing a Bulgaria jersey, with brown trousers and white trainers. Harry recognized him instantly, having just seen a key chain with the man's face on it.

"Oliver Wood!"

Ron's eyes grew impossibly larger. "Blimey, is that you, Wood?"

"It is," Oliver confirmed, grinning. "So, how's summer been, you two?"

Ron shrugged, and said, "I dunno, pretty well."

Harry grinned, nodding. "Yeah, you see, we're at this thing called the Quidditch World Cup, Wood. So, this is probably the best summer we've ever had."

Chuckling, Oliver said, "I'm sure it is, Potter!"

"So, how are things with Puddlemere United?" Harry asked.

"Really, really well, actually. Team started practice a couple weeks ago. You've got to be fit when you're being paid to play Quidditch professionally, y'know."

Ron laughed. "Do you know if you'll be starting any games?"

Oliver nodded proudly. "I do, actually. Our starting keeper, Dmitri Hutz, is out with a wrist injury, so I'll be starting the first game of the season."

"Wow... you're like famous now, Wood!" Ron said.

"And to think," said Harry, "we went to the same school as you, we're in the same house as you..."

A pink tinge painted Oliver's cheeks.

"Say, Wood, do you think I might have your autograph?" Harry asked, watching his former school mate's jaw drop.

"You want _my_ autograph? Seriously, Potter?" Oliver said, his brow wrinkled.

Harry nodded. "Sure, if you don't mind, I mean."

Ron spoke up, fumbling in his bag for something. "You know, I'm a Cannon's fan, but I'd like an autograph as well."

Oliver shook his head, though he was still grinning. "Oh, Weasley... you'll have to work on converting him, Potter."

"Ron and my cousin, both, now," Harry said.

"Who does your cousin support, Potter?"

"Your father's a muggle, isn't he?" Harry asked, watching as Ron pulled his favorite book, _Quidditch: The Ultimate Sport_, from his bag.

Confusion evident on his face, Oliver slowly nodded. "He is."

"Then, you know about football?"

"Yes! Yeah, I know it. It's great fun," Oliver said. "So... about your cousin?"

"He and I support different football teams, so I'm trying to sway him into cheering my favorite. Now, I've work to do with Ron."

Ron scoffed, "You won't make me a Puddlemere fan, Harry."

"I will," Harry mouthed to Oliver, who laughed.

Shaking his head, Ron held out his Quidditch book for Oliver. "Can you sign this, Oliver?" he asked.

"Certainly," Oliver replied with a bright grin, taking book from the freckled-boy's hands. He pulled a black-feathered quill from his pocket, and Ron gaped.

"Is that one of those new quills, Wood? The kind that'll never run out of ink?"

The brown-haired man nodded. "Sure is."

"Wow... I ought to get one of those. I'm always knocking over my inkpot."

Meanwhile, Harry searched hastily through his bag, and grabbed the book that held his quidditch cards. He had the cards of only a few players, and among them were Grigori Vólkov, Basilio Xabi, Viktor Krum, Alistair Howard, Mike Appleton, and Oliver Wood.

Carefully, Harry removed Oliver's card and put his book aside.

"There you go, Weasley," Oliver said, handing Ron his book. On the cover, the new professional quidditch player's signature was signed neatly.

"Thanks, Wood."

Oliver nodded. "Not a problem. Potter? D'you have something you want me to sign?"

"This, if you would, please." Harry gave him his qudditch card. Oliver's brown eyes glittered with mirth as he stared down at it.

"Wow... I haven't actually seen one of these yet," Oliver mumbled, turning the card over. "It's strange, seeing yourself on one these. Maybe you'll have your face on one of 'em, eh, Potter?"

"Maybe," Harry said, smiling slightly.

Oliver signed the quidditch card, his quill scratching against it softly. "And... there. Here you are, Potter."

Harry took the card from Oliver's outstretched hand. "Thanks, Wood."

"Well, I'd best be off." Oliver put his quill away, patting his pocket. "Got to find my seat, before someone tries to steal it." His eyes grew serious, as he looked at the boys. "Be careful, you two. There are loads of freaks 'round here. I spotted the Malfoys not too long ago, chatting with the Goyles. Quite a few of You-Know-Who's supporters."

Ron and Harry shared a look, worrying their bottom lips. "We'll be careful, Wood," Harry assured him.

"Yeah, we'll make sure to avoid any loonies," said Ron.

"Make sure you do," Oliver told them. "Well... enjoy the game, Potter, Weasley." He gave them both a curt nod. "Go Bulgaria, eh?"

He gave his two former school mates one last smile, before disappearing in the sea of people that crowded the streets.

"You know, Harry, these might be worth a lot someday! If Wood becomes some quidditch star, these autographs could be valuable," Ron said as they put their autographs away.

"Maybe, Ron."

Ron chuckled. His attention returned to the World Cup merchandise that was for sale. "D'you want anything from here?"

Tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the countertop, Harry searched for the Puddlemere United key chain he had found before. "Yeah," he said, holding it up, so that Ron could see. "This, I think"

"Right, well. I'll take a badge," Ron told him, and they made their way to the checkout counter.

Minutes later, they left the shop, wading through crowds of people. Harry glanced at a crowd of particularly dark wizards. "Oi, see there, Ron. There's the Goyles!" he told the red-haired boy.

Grimacing, Ron nodded. "Yeah, let's get back to the tent before they spot us. I don't fancy them spotting us. They'd probably kill us!"

"Well," Harry said, wincing as a man smelling of whiskey bumped into him. "I don't think they would _kill_ us, Ron."

Ron snorted. "So you think! I wouldn't put it past them."

Harry pulled his coat tighter, a chill running down his spine as a strong wind blew. A pair of platinum-blonde heads came into his view as they neared their tent. "Oh, _God_... just when we thought it couldn't get much worse." Draco and his father, Lucius Malfoy, were speaking with a middle-aged, dark-skinned man. "Who is that they're with? Do you know, Ron?"

With a shake of his head, Ron said, "No, but I'd bet anything he's one of You-Know-Who's followers. Bloody hell! Wood wasn't kidding about there being so many Death Eaters here!" Ron rolled his eyes. "Look at Draco, smoothing down his slimy hair... ugh. Just think, mate. Next, we'll run into Snape!"

"That's all we need, isn't it? The Greasy Git here, snarling at us. C'mon, let's hurry."

* * *

"Wow! All the way up here, Dad?" 

Mr. Weasley nodded and took his seat on the bench. "Great seats, aren't they?" The twins nodded, their mouths agape as they looked around the stadium.

Harry was speechless. _'We'll be so close to the teams!' _he realized with a grin. Ron, too, could not stop smiling. Neither could believe their luck.

The stadium was full, filled with scattered patches of people donning red and green. People were chanting, some dancing, many drunk. Fans were wearing their favorite team's kit, and had brought replicas of the player's customized broomsticks. Banners and scarves were raised proudly. Fists were pumping in the air, some hitting others as they fought. Security, Harry noticed, seemed very tight. Aurors were everywhere.

Harry saw Oliver Wood seated just a few rows above him, and waved. Oliver noticed and returned the gesture. Grinning, the Scottish man held his red and black Bulgaria scarf up. Harry grinned, tipping his cap he bought earlier.

"What the hell's that racket?"

The twins were singing in what they said was Bulgarian. Harry wasn't quite sure he believed them.

"Oh, Harry, you know they're just making up words!" Hermione told him as she came to stand by him. "Do you mind if I sit next to you?"

He shook his head. "Not at all!" he said, patting the empty spot next to him. Hermione smiled, and wiped the bench off before sitting down. Ron plopped down rather unceremoniously beside her. The bushy-haired girl looked at him strangely.

"Hey, 'Mione," he mumbled, blushing.

"Are you well, Ronald?" she asked. "You look awfully red."

"I'm fine!" he insisted. "Merlin... can't a man sit with his friends?" he mumbled, looking away.

Hermione shared an amused glance with Harry. "A man?" she mouthed, smiling. Harry shrugged, chuckling. Ron's head snapped back towards them, and Harry quieted down, though neither he nor Hermione could stop smiling.

"Hullo, Harry!" said a voice. The bespectacled boy jumped slightly, and found a smirking Ginny sitting on his other side.

"Don't scare me like that, Ginny!" he said, adjusting his cap. She apologized with a toothy grin, and he knew she did not mean it. Her eyes narrowed, then, as she looked at him, causing him to squirm.

"Harry, what's different about you?" she asked, cocking her head to the side, studying his face with her brown eyes.

"I dunno..."

"Your eyes... they're different somehow. And your mouth, it's wider," she murmured.

"His hair isn't nearly as messy as it used to be," Hermione piped up, from his right.

Ginny nodded. "It is!"

Harry rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "Yeah... I, uh, I've been changing since the start of the summer."

"Changing?"

From Hermione's side, Ron told them, "Says he saw his fingers grow!"

Hermione's brow was wrinkled. "You saw your fingers grow?" she asked Harry, skeptically.

"I did," he nodded.

Ginny was frowning. "That can't be normal."

Harry frowned, searching for any possible explanation. "I don't think it's anything to fuss over. I mean, I think I'm just starting to look more like my mum."

"No...I don't think so," Hermione disagreed, shaking her head. "You know, it actually sounds like a charm was put on you, Harry, and now it's starting to weaken."

"Surely Harry'd know if he had a charm put on him, 'Mione!" Ron said, incredulous.

Hermione sighed, clearly frustrated. "Well... I don't know!"

"Still, that sounds strange," Ginny said. "We ought to look that up. See if there's any explanation for that, other than an appearance-altering charm."

"Ginny's right. Soon as we get to Hogwarts next week, I'm going to the library and researching that." Hermione looked determined.

Harry shared a long look with Ron, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"There's Pudgy Fudge!"

"Look, the Minister!"

"It's about to start!"

Everyone stood as the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, introduced both teams onto the pitch. Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at hearing Ginny squeal when the young Bulgarian star, Viktor Krum, flew out on his slick, black broom, joining the rest of his team. He ignored it, though, and watched the referee toss the quaffle in the air, thus beginning the Quidditch World Cup of 1994.

* * *

"Ron squealed, too," Hermione told Harry later that night, as they sat in their beds. "When that Krum boy entered the pitch, I mean." 

"I did not!" Ron squeaked indignantly.

"You did, Ronald!"

Ginny was laughing, and Harry was watching her, smiling slightly. It had been a wonderful evening. People were singing outside, and sending white, green, and orange fireworks into the clear, starry sky. Ireland had beaten Bulgaria. Badly. Though, after an entire half-hour of brooding, Harry and his friends had overcome their depression.

Now, they sat on their beds, sleepily. It was nearing eleven o'clock.

The twins' singing filled their ears suddenly.

"Ron and Viktor sitting in a treeeeeee...k-i-s-s-"

Ron was blushing furiously. "Sod off!"

"Language, Ronald!" yelled Mr. Weasley, from the 'parlor'.

The tent was amazing. When the children had arrived back at the tent, after Mr. Weasley finished setting it up, it looked rather shabby. Harry thought it might fall over, from the look of it. But when they went inside of it... he'd had to blink to make sure his eyes were not playing some trick on him. It looked like a house, albeit, a rather small, cramped house. There were rooms, but no doors, except the one to the washroom. There were three 'bedrooms', a tiny 'kitchen, and a cramped 'parlor' as well.

"Fred, George!" Mr Weasley put down the Daily Prophet he was reading, looking pointedly at the redheaded twins. "Stop irritating your brother!"

"Oh, Dad! But it's so much fun-"

"Annoying ickle Ronnikins!"

From the bedroom he, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione were sharing, Ron huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Silence fell upon them, and that's when they heard it.

The blood-curdling screams coming from outside, from no one direction. It sounded dreadful, and everyone ran into the 'parlor', where Mr. Weasley leapt to his feet.

"Stay here," he demanded, as he grabbed his wand. He hurried out of the tent, to see what the commotion was. Just seconds later, he screamed, "GET OUT OF THE TENT!"

The twins sprinted out, the other four close behind. They saw Mr. Weasley, panting. "Fred, George, take Ginny! Harry, Ron, you'll take Hermione! Get to the hill, where we landed. The portkey, the boot, it should still be there! Go there! NOW!"

Red spells were whizzing through the air, knocking men to the ground, and missing others by mere inches. One flew past Harry's head, and turned around, his green eyes widening. Men in black robes, wearing tall, silver masks were marching through the streets, firing curses and hexes. Hermione gasped as a young girl, who looked to be about five years old, was hit with a slicing hex, meant for her father.

"But, Dad! You-"

"Never mind that! GET TO THE PORTKEY!"

That was all it took. They ran as quickly as they could. The twins and Ginny were further ahead, but Harry, Hermione, and Ron were following, their legs and arms pumping furiously.

"Hermione!" Harry cried, as she tripped over a broken bottle of fire whiskey. She was cradling her wrist, trying to get up. Ron grabbed her quickly, panting heavily.

Their faces glistening with sweat, and a few tears, they sprinted past rows of destroyed tents. People were sprawled across the muddy ground, some bleeding, some dead. Harry tried not to pay attention to them, as they entered a wooded area.

"COME ON!" one of the twins shouted, glancing back at the three fourteen year olds. "I think we're nearly there!"

Harry took Hermione's good hand in his, and panted, "C'mon, 'Mione. Just... just a bit f-further."

Ron pulled closer. "Yeah, Hermione. We're go-gonna make it!"

"THERE'S THE BOOT!"

The portkey was only a half-mile away now. The tricky thing was running up the hill. Up ahead, Fred stumbled over a tree branch, but caught himself before he plummeted down to the wet ground.

The ground was difficult to run on, being moist from the rain that had come earlier that day. The Gryffindors jumped over branches, snapped twigs with their trainers, slid on slick grass. They fell a few times, but always got back up, desperate to get to the portkey that would take them to the forest where they had met the Diggorys that morning. From there, they would travel home to the Burrow, which was less than a mile away from the forest.

"HURRY!"

The Golden Trio picked up their pace, dashing up to the top of the hill, where the twins and Ginny stood, at the portkey. Not a minute later, they all were at the boot. Ginny looked back in the direction they had sprinted from.

"Where's Dad?" she breathed, her chest rising and falling quickly.

Ron squinted, looking into the dark woods. "We can't leave without him; the portkey will be gone after we use it!"

"We can't just stay here. The Death Eaters will find us if we just stand here!" George told them.

"Death Eaters? Those were Death Eaters?" Harry asked, realization dawning.

Hermione looked at him oddly. "You didn't know?" Harry quietly shook his head. "Yes, Harry, those were Death Eaters. That's their costume. Just about anyone in the wizarding world recognizes those masks. I'm surprised you didn't."

"So... so they were after me, weren't they? They knew I was here."

"We don't have time for this! We _need _to go! _Now_!" Fred said.

"Dad-" Ginny began.

George reminded her, "Dad can apparate, can he not?" His eyes softened. "Gin, Dad's clever. He'll get home, all right?"

Worry lines creasing her forehead, Ginny gave a shaky nod. "A-all right." She stood straight, and put on a brave face. "Let's go."

Harry reached over and squeezed her hand. He was pleasantly surprised when she firmly squeezed his back.

"Right, on three. One, two, three!"

And, in a whirl of colors, they disappeared.

* * *

A/N: Wow... that was a great chapter to write! Hope you all enjoyed it. Please, tell me in a review! As always, thanks for reading. 


	14. Getting To The Burrow

Disclaimer: I _still_ don't own Harry Potter.

Thanks for all the great reviews! You people make me so happy.

_"Destination Unknown"_

by Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 14: Getting to the Burrow

* * *

Portkeys, Harry decided that evening, were hellish transportation devices never to be used by him again.

Never.

"Bloody hell!" he hissed upon arriving at the forest.

"Not a fan of portkeys, are you, Harry?" Ginny said, helping to steady the bespectacled boy. She smiled when he glared at her.

"You all right there, Hermione?" Ron asked, watching the bushy-haired girl rub her left wrist.

Suppressing a moan, Hermione shook her head. "No... I think my wrist is broken."

"Can I?" asked Ron, gesturing at her wrist. She nodded slightly, allowing him to take her bony wrist in his hands. Peering down through his tired, blue eyes, Ron examined her wrist, prodding it gently. "Can you move your fingers?"

Everyone watched as Hermione slowly wiggled her index finger. "I don't think it's broken," said George. Fred shook his head.

"No, just a sprained wrist," Fred said. "We've seen plenty of those, playing Qudditch over the years."

"Mum should know for sure."

The twins got up from the grass, brushing off their trousers. Harry and the rest followed, Ron aiding Hermione as she rose on unsteady feet.

"We need to get home, make sure everything is okay there," said Fred. "Mum's probably worrying herself to death." He looked at the younger teens, frowning. "Everyone fine to walk from here?" Everyone nodded, Hermione more slowly than the others. "Right."

"Let's go, then." George wiped his sweaty face on his torn sleeve, and he and Fred led the four behind them.

* * *

"Death Eaters raided the Quidditch World Cup tonight. It is believed that Harry Potter attended. There has been no sign of the Boy-Who-Lived yet. Aurors continue to search through the rubble and ashes for any survivors. Again, the death toll has risen to twenty-one. Dozens have been taken to St. Mungos, many in critical condition." 

Molly cradled her face in her shaky hands, leaning over the kitchen counter. She had not heard back from anyone, and the lump in her throat grew larger and larger as the reporter on the radio went on.

"Now, we've just received word that three Death Eaters were captured. One, Adam McCarty of Hogsmeade, was found dead by aurors upon arriving at the World Cup. An autopsy is to be performed at St. Mungos tomorrow, and we'll give you the details of his death just as soon as we learn them.

"Also, Jamie Wilcox, twenty-four years old male from Puddlemere, and Maxen Davies, forty-three years old Welsh man, were captured fleeing from the scene. Both are alive, and have been taken to Azkaban for questioning."

Sighing, Molly sat down at the table, wringing her apron in her hands restlessly. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the fireplace flare up. Quickly, she grabbed her wand and jumped up to her feet, making her way to the sitting room.

She demanded, "Who is there?" Her grip loosened on her raised wand when she saw Albus Dumbledore stepping out of the fireplace, Severus Snape following.

"Do not fear us, Molly. Severus and I are only here to check on young Harry."

"Oh, Albus, Severus! Thank Merlin, you're both all right," she said as the two men approached her, brushing the soot from their robes.

"Never mind us, Molly," said Snape. "Where is Potter?"

Molly grimaced. "I was hoping you'd know. I'm not sure where any of them are."

"Them?" Dumbledore's eyebrows were knitted, almost as one.

"Ginny, the twins, Ron, Hermione, and Harry all went to the game. Arthur took them. I... I h-haven't heard from any of them," she told them, her voice wobbly.

"Oh, dear..." Dumbledore raked a long-fingered hand through his gray beard. "I have nearly every Order member out searching for Harry. Has anyone reported anything, Severus? It's been near an hour since I sent them off."

Snape shook his head. "No, sir. Nothing yet."

Molly pointed behind them, at the tall oak clock sitting next to the beige-papered wall. "My clock only tells me that the children are tired. Hermione is injured apparently, though I'm not certain how badly. Arthur... Arthur's lost, according to the clock. But they are alive."

Dumbledore nodded, "They must have escaped."

* * *

"Are we close, you think?" asked Fred, squinting in the dark. 

"Not much further," George answered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I estimate we're nearly... what would you say, Fred? Five, ten minutes?"

Fred nodded. "Yeah, about that, I'd say."

Suddenly, Ginny cried, "I remember that tree! We must not be far!" Ginny tugged Harry by the arm, speeding up their pace slightly.

"That tree looks just like all the others, Ginny!" Ron said, allowing Hermione to lean on him as they walked, a little behind the others. "We're in the bloody forest!"

"No, Ron, that one's different! See how that one tilts to the left? And those two branches, they make an X, see?"

"Gin's right," said Fred, looking back. "They do make an X."

"Right, and I know we had just only met the Diggorys a few minutes before I saw that tree, so we must be very close!" Ginny said excitedly.

Harry fixed his glasses, setting them so that they were straight on his nose. He had since taken off his hat, and had folded it so it fit in his back pocket. Tiredly, he ran a hand through his hair, surprised to feel that it was quite flat on his head.

"Ginny? Is my hair flat?" he asked, feeling strange.

Ginny narrowed her eyes and looked up at the taller boy's head. Her brown eyes widened. "Wow, Hermione, d'you see that? It is flat!" she said, craning her head back to look at the other girl.

Hermione nodded, too. "Harry, it really is! Maybe it's from the hat? And it must be wet from sweat and that rain earlier."

Harry shrugged, feeling very self-conscious under the girls' eyes.

"There's a light! That's the kitchen, isn't it?"

"I think so!"

George smiled slightly, "Let's go, you lot! We're home!"

Eyes bright in the moonlight, Ginny panted, "D'you think Dad's here?"

"Let's find out!"

The children ran quickly on their muddy trainers up to the Burrow, a feeling of triumph settling upon them.

* * *

Molly sighed, rubbing her head with her palm. Slowly, she nodded. "Well, thank you, for checking." 

"Absolutely, Mrs. Weasley," said a young blonde receptionist. "I will contact you immediately if any Weasleys, Potters, or... Griffins, wasn't it?"

Molly frowned, shaking her head. "No, Hermione Granger. She's fourteen, fifteen in a week or so."

The receptionist inclined her head. "Hermione Granger. Right, then. I'll contact you if Weasleys, Potters, or Grangers check into St. Mungos."

"Thank you," Molly said quietly, before shutting the firecall connection. Slowly, she turned around to face Dumbledore and Snape, who were standing near the window, one stroking his beard, the other staring out the window.

"We mustn't lose hope, Molly," Dumbledore told the short woman, whose face was crumbling as she looked at the framed pictures of her children on the fireplace mantel.

He went to her side, placing a wrinkled hand on her slouched shoulder.

"I'm so worried, Albus!" she moaned, rubbing her face. "I can't help but wonder where they are, what they've gone through! W-what if we don't find them, Albus? I can't lose them."

"Molly, dear. We will find them." Dumbledore looked her in the eye. "_All_ of them," he assured her.

Molly took a deep breath, a ragged one. Dumbledore squeezed her shoulder gently, before turning back to Severus, who was staring out the window.

"Severus?" he asked curiously. "Do you see something?"

Snape nodded slightly. "Someone's out there," he said quickly. "A group."

Dumbledore straightened and hurriedly walked to the window, Molly on his tail. They held the long, white curtains apart as they peered out of it. Snape, meanwhile, had his wand clutched in his fist, and was walking to the front door.

"Who are they?" Molly murmured. "Not Death Eaters, surely?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No... not Death Eaters... wait a moment, Severus-"

"MY CHILDREN!"

Snape barely had time to move out of the frantic mother's way. She rushed by him, flinging open the heavy door before running out of it.

The Potions Master attempted to hold her back, but she was too fast. "Molly, stop! You can't be sure-"

"They're mine, Severus!" Molly cried, rushing toward the stumbling figures in the dark.

"MUM!"

"There's Mrs. Weasley!"

Breathing heavily, the group began sprinting. Snape and Dumbledore watched the cluster gather around Molly. Some of them were clearly redheads, one had long, bushy hair, and one, Snape realized, was wearing those famous round, black glasses, the lens reflecting the starry sky.

"There's Potter," the black-haired professor told Dumbledore.

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed," he said. "We must get them inside." The elderly headmaster turned back to him. "Alert the Order, Severus."

With a sharp nod, Snape Apparated away.

* * *

Molly finished wrapping Hermione's wrist as everyone sat at the kitchen table, Dumbledore at the head. The tired, wet teenagers had since changed their clothes, and all were wearing jumpers, shivering still from the cold outside. 

"I'm worried about Dad. D'you think he'll be okay, Mum?" Ginny asked quietly from the chair next to Hermione's.

Molly looked at her daughter, smiling slightly. "Your father's a very intelligent man, Ginny. He'll be fine."

At the other side of the table, Dumbledore was questioning Ronald, Harry, and the twins about the Cup.

"Well... the Malfoys were there, and the Goyles, too," Ron told the elderly Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore sipped his tea from a white cup. "Both families are thought to be involved in the Dark Arts, supporters of Voldemort. Nothing has ever been proven, however."

"They do seem the type," Harry said. "Especially Draco's father."

"Lucius Malfoy, yes," Dumbledore said. "Lucius has never been a kind man, ever since his days at Hogwarts. He and his friends were always causing trouble, bullying younger students, studying the Dark Arts."

Everyone but the Headmaster jumped when they heard a loud 'pop!' from outside. Ron, who was closest to the window, was the first to recognize the person who had just apparated onto their property.

"It's Snape!"

Hermione was quick to correct him. "_Professor_ Snape, Ronald!"

Harry saw Ron roll his eyes, but didn't smile. Instead, he wondered why the Potions Master was at the Burrow.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for how long it took to get this posted! Hopefully, you readers liked it. Let me know! Review, please! And, as always, thank you for reading. 


	15. An Evening with Snape and Dumbledore

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Thanks again, you wonderful people! You reviewers are so awesome.

_"Destination Unknown"_

by Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 15: An Evening with Snape and Dumbledore

In response to Alex, who anonymously reviewed chapter 13:

Oliver Wood plays quidditch professionally. Harry plays quidditch on a school team. Harry might be one of the best quidditch players in the world, but he does not play professionally. Oliver does, though, and so he has his own Quidditch card, _not_ a chocolate frog card, as you believed. Harry does not have a Quidditch card.

As to a Harry/Ginny romance... well... just because Harry has feelings for Ginny doesn't necessarily mean she still returns them. Time has gone by, and this story is AU, so... we'll just have to see!

OoOoOoOoOo

I'd like to thank everyone who takes the time to read my story, and special thanks to those who review it. You all keep me going.

* * *

Snape and Harry's eyes connected as soon as the black-clad man entered the Burrow. The Potions Master looked tired, and his dark eyes were heavy-lidded. They held each other's gaze for a long time, neither one willing to be the first to look away. Snape, Harry realized, almost seemed to be studying his face. The man's eyes were narrowed in concentration. Harry caught the widening of Snape's eyes, the slight raise of an eyebrow. Uncomfortably, the teenager looked away. 

Finally, the Headmaster spoke. "Ah, Severus. Join us, please."

Slowly, Snape shut the front door, nodding his head. "Yes, Headmaster," he answered shortly, his eyes moving around the table, looking at his students.

"Do sit, Severus," Mrs. Weasley said, patting the chair next to Dumbledore. Harry saw Ron scowl slightly when Snape pulled out the proffered chair, seating himself.

Mrs. Weasley, at seeing Ginny hide a yawn, decided it was time for the children to retire to bed for the night. It was nearing midnight.

"I think it's best for the children to sleep now," she told Dumbledore, who inclined his head, his glasses sliding down his nose.

"Of course," he replied, pushing his glasses back into place. "May Severus and I keep Harry a moment longer, Molly? I have a few questions."

Harry watched the other teens get to their feet, pushing in their chairs. Silently, he remained seated, looking to Mrs. Weasley for her answer.

The red-haired lady frowned, but eventually nodded. She looked at the standing children, gesturing upstairs.

"To bed, you lot. I'll be up to check on you all in a moment," she told them as they trotted upstairs, shoulders slumped from exhaustion.

"What about Dad?"

"He'll be home. Soon. Don't worry," she said. Grudgingly, the Weasley kids and Hermione went upstairs to their bedrooms.

Mrs. Weasley sat next to Harry, hands in her lap. "Severus, have you heard anything from Arthur?" she asked quietly. Harry could hear the hope in her voice.

Snape shook his head. "No, Molly."

Dumbledore frowned, and was about to speak, when they heard a voice coming from the fireplace.

"Mrs. Weasley? Hello?" it was saying. Harry recognized that the voice belonged to a younger woman. He was startled when Mrs. Weasley leapt up from her seat, the chair squeaking on the tile as she pushed it back. Hurriedly, the woman ran to the fireplace in the sitting room.

As they waited for her to return, Dumbledore asked, "Did you see Voldemort tonight, Harry?"

"No, sir," he answered quietly, looking at the elderly headmaster. He could feel Snape's eyes on him. "No pain in my scar, either. It usually hurts whenever he's near me. I really don't think he was there."

Dumbledore nodded. "You said that you saw the Goyles and Malfoys there. Did you recognize anyone else?"

Harry scratched the back of his head as he thought. "Well, Oliver Wood was there, and I think I might have seen the Creaveys-"

Snape interrupted. "Was there anyone who is known to be associated with the Dark Lord, Potter?"

Trying his best not to glare at the professor, Harry said, "Well, Ron and I saw Mr. Malfoy talking to a man. We didn't recognize him, but he seemed... he seemed dark enough."

"Describe him, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"Uh... well, he had dark skin. Was really tan. And, his hair was black, I think his eyes were brown. He was clean-shaven. He's tall, too. Very thin. I'd say he's in his... forties. Maybe his fifties..." Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Seemed like he'd lived a rough life. He was banged up pretty badly. There were several scars on his face. Long marks, almost like he'd been cut. I heard him speak a little. He had... I think it might've been a Welsh accent. Maybe."

Dumbledore didn't appear to recognize the man's description. Snape seemed to, however.

"Sounds like Davies," he murmured. "He and Lucuis have always been friends."

Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow. "Maxen Davies, you mean, Professor Snape?"

Nodding, the pale-skinned professor said, "Yes, sir. He was captured tonight by aurors, along with two others." Here, Snape sighed tiredly, blinking his eyes. He went on, "One was dead, and the other, Wilcox, I think, has been arrested and taken in for questioning, as well."

"Jamie Wilcox, you mean?"

"Yes, sir," Snape told Dumbledore.

"He was in your house, yes, Professor Snape?" the wrinkled wizard asked. "Only a few years ago, it seems."

Silently, with pursed lips, the potions master nodded. "Indeed-"

"I must go! Arthur's at St. Mungos!" cried Mrs. Weasley from the other room. She rushed into the kitchen, clumsily throwing on her coat.

"Mr. Weasley's been found?" Harry asked, hope welling inside. There had been no sign of the man since they escaped the Death Eater raid.

"Oh, yes, Harry dear! He's been at St. Mungos about a half hour now," she said, putting her hair up in a bun. "Slight injury the head apparently."

Harry asked, "Are we all going, Mrs. Weasley? I doubt the others are asleep-"

"Oh... I, well I can't leave you kids alone, can I?" Mrs. Weasley sighed. "I'll only be picking him up and bringing him back here. The nurse said they'd like for someone to Floo with him, just in case anything were to happen. He just needs rest is all."

"Severus and I are willing to stay with the children for now, Molly," said Dumbledore.

Harry watched Snape give the headmaster a look that clearly said, "Are we, then?"

Molly smiled gratefully. "I'll be only a minute! Thank you so very much!" she told the two men. Dumbledore smiled, whereas Snape scowled.

'This'll be fun,' Harry thought as Snape turned his glare on him.

* * *

It was twenty minutes before Mrs. Weasley returned. Twenty _long_ minutes. 

Dumbledore conjured a pot of tea, and all three had a cup. As he drank his tea, Harry felt Snape's gaze on him. It seemed like the man was studying his face.

"So, Harry," Dumbledore had said, "have you finished your school work?"

Harry had nodded. "Yes, sir. I've been finished for a week or two now."

Snape snorted in disbelief. Harry glared at the man.

After that, there had been minutes of silence. Snape and Dumbledore would discuss some school matter or other for a moment or two before falling quiet again. Harry had been bored out of his mind, and so he was quite happy to see two red heads appear in the fireplace.

Soot on their robes, Mrs. Weasley led Mr. Weasley, who had a bandage wrapped around his forehead, into the kitchen, where he gently plopped down on his chair, sighing.

"Well, hello there, Arthur," Dumbledore said, rising up from his chair. Snape quickly followed. "Welcome back, Molly. I trust all is well."

"All is well, Albus," she said, removing her robe. "Thank you for minding the house."

Snape and Dumbledore curtly nodded. The headmaster went to Mr. Weasley, who appeared quite exhausted as he cradled his head. "Did the medi-witches take care of that head of yours, Arthur?" he asked.

Harry saw Mr. Weasley smile slightly. The balding man nodded, looking up at his former professor. "Yes, sir. Just a few spells and stitches. Nothing serious."

"Very good, very good." Dumbledore squeezed the red-haired man's shoulder. He then walked to Mrs. Weasley, patting her hand softly. "I believe we shall take our leave now, Molly."

Warmly, the plump lady smiled. "Thank you, both of you," she said, looking pointedly at Snape, who inclined his head curtly.

Chuckling, the tall headmaster told bid her and her husband goodnight. As he and the potions master prepared to leave, however, Mrs. Weasley stopped them.

"Albus, do you think it will be safe to visit Diagon Alley tomorrow?" she asked.

Dumbledore turned around. "Harry will be coming along?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "We'll be buying school supplies."

Dumbledore and Snape looked at one another, in quiet conversation. Harry saw Snape shake his head several times, scowling here and there. He didn't seem to agree with Dumbledore. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked quite pleased.

By straining his ears, Harry heard Snape. "I do not believe it will be safe, Headmaster!"

The headmaster tried to reason. "Severus, the Order will be all around them. They will be protected."

Snape looked dubious.

"Albus?" Molly said.

Slowly, the elderly headmaster turned to face the red-haired parents. "We-"

Here, Snape snorted.

Dumbledore went on, not paying the younger man any mind. "_We_ believe that you all shall be safe to go tomorrow. Order members will be alerted, and they shall follow you to Diagon Alley. They will watch for any trouble, though I do not believe there will be any."

"Should we disguise Harry? As a precaution?" Mr. Weasley asked, rubbing his bandage.

"No charms should be necessary," said Dumbledore.

Harry spoke up. "I've a hat I bought today at the match. I could wear that," he told them.

Snape nodded before the headmaster could speak. "Wear it, Potter."

"I agree with Professor Snape," Dumbledore said, looking back at Snape with raised eyebrows. "It certainly couldn't hurt."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Very well, then. We'll be ready for tomorrow, then."

Dumbledore and Snape prepared once more to leave. "Contact me should you need anything," Dumbledore said, straightening his robe.

The Weasleys nodded their goodbyes.

"Goodnight, Headmaster," said Harry. A moment later, he added, "Professor Snape."

Looking back at Harry, Snape looked strange. Surprised, perhaps. Slowly, he nodded.

A moment later, he and the Headmaster apparated away.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please, tell me what you think. Review! Happy Halloween, by the way! 


	16. The Day After

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Thanks for reviewing:D

__

"Destination Unknown"

by Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 16: The Day After

* * *

Hermione and Harry were the first to wake the next morning. All the Weasleys in the house remained on the second level, sleeping soundly.

Presently, the two sat in front of the wobbly, three-legged coffee table, before the fireplace, still dressed in their nightclothes. Their hair was messy and had not yet been brushed. Their eyes were glassy from having just woken up.

"D'you sleep well, Harry?" Hermione asked softly, stretching her legs on the wooly, burgundy rug.

Rubbing his face, Harry nodded. "Yeah, well enough. Ron started snoring around five."

"Oh, I heard him! That's what woke Ginny and me," Hermione said.

Harry smiled, laughing. "Me, too."

"Yeah, well, I decided to get up. Ginny went back to sleep."

"She's probably used to it," Harry said, leaning back on his elbows.

"Watch your head, Harry," Hermione warned him as his head neared the coffee table. "I've already knocked mine on the table this morning. I've a giant lump."

Carefully, Harry settled, finding a comfortable position. He watched the fire he had lit dance in the hearth.

Hermione asked, "How were the Dursleys this summer?"

Shrugging, Harry replied, "All right. It was... okay. About as it usually is, really." A little voice in the back of his head cried, "Liar!", but he ignored it, watching his bushy-haired friend pull her sleeves over her knuckles.

Hermione raised her thin eyebrows. "Really?"

"Really," he said. "Actually, Dudley and I have been getting along lately."

"Really?" She was incredulous.

"Really!" he told her. "Yeah, we've been talking and stuff. We watched football on the telly. Dudley even had tickets to a match, and he let me go with him!"

"You're kidding!"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not kidding! I'm being serious."

"Wow..." Hermione said, "That's great, Harry!"

"Yeah, I suppose it is," Harry said. "He even wants me to write him."

Pushing a stray strand of hair behind her hair, Hermione asked, "Have you?"

"Well... not yet."

"Harry!" Hermione hit his arm. "Well, you should!"

"Ow!" Harry winced, rubbing arm. He already had enough bruises from his uncle. He didn't any from Hermione. "Merlin, Hermione, that hurt!"

Looking apologetic, Hermione murmured, "Sorry." Then, "But you still need to write to him!"

"I will, I will!"

The two lapsed into silence. Harry was pulling on a loose thread on his jumper, when Hermione said, "I've been thinking about this growing thing, Harry. I mean, about how you've been changing lately, you know? Do you think a charm has been placed on you?"

Brows drawn, Harry said, "I don't think so. Why would anyone do that?"

Frowning, Hermione sighed. "I don't know..."

"Last night, when Snape was here-"

"_Professor_ Snape, you mean."

Harry groaned. "Last night, when _Professor_ Snape was here, I think he may have noticed that I've been changing."

"It is rather noticeable."

"Yeah." That's when a thought struck him. "Hermione, Professor Dumbledore can see through invisibility cloaks, right?"

Hermione looked confused. "Right..."

"Well, do you think he would be able to see through a masking charm? Something to change an appearance?"

Hermione sat up straight. Her brown eyes large, Hermione cried. "Oh! I hadn't even considered _that_!" Lowering her back against the coffee table, she said, "I'm not sure... you'd think he would be able to, wouldn't you?"

Harry nodded. "You'd think," he agreed. "But last night he didn't really seem notice anything, or, if he did, he didn't say anything. Maybe, if there is a charm on me, it's too strong for him to see."

"Well... it's losing strength now."

"Is there a spell we could use to detect a charm?"

A thoughtful frown on her face, Hermione said, "I'll have to research it. Yeah, I'll definitely look that up."

A door shut from upstairs.

"Someone's up," Harry said, turning back to the staircase.

"Probably Mrs. Weasley," Hermione guessed.

Scratching his nose, Harry rolled onto his side, stretching out his legs. "So, your birthday's next week, Hermione," he said.

Hermione smiled. "Yeah, I'll be fifteen."

Harry chuckled. "You're getting up there, aren't you, 'Mione?"

"_Harry_!"

He winced when she hit his shoulder for the second time that morning. _'And it's not even six!' _he thought.

* * *

Mrs. Weasley was indeed the first Weasley up. She was surprised to see their guests already up. Immediately, she began preparing breakfast.

Mr. Weasley awoke next. Groggily, he walked into the kitchen. Harry and Hermione greeted him, happy that he was all right. Mr. Weasley sat himself down at the head of the table, chatting with the others as they waited to eat.

Ginny was next. In her soft blue robe, she wobbled into the kitchen. Instantly, she was at her father's side, hugging him tightly. After several moments, she seated herself next to him, joining into the conversation about what had occurred the night before.

The twins and Ron entered the kitchen as soon as their mother had finished cooking. They, too, had warmly greeted their father, happy to have him back.

Breakfast was rather light. A neat stack of toast with strawberry jam, sausage, and eggs were placed on the table. Everyone took a portion of each, eating hungrily.

"We'll be leaving for Diagon Alley after we've all finished eating," Mrs. Weasley told the children. "You all need to be dressed and ready to go."

"Will you be going with us, Dad?" asked Ron, from next to Harry.

Mrs. Weasley spoke before her husband could. "Your father will stay home. He needs his rest."

"You're sure you'll be fine without me, dear?" Mr. Weasley asked.

The red-haired mother nodded, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Absolutely. This won't be the first time I've taken the kids to Diagon Alley alone," she reminded him, making him flush slightly.

"I'm aware," he replied. "It's just... after yesterday, I suppose I'm still rather shaken up."

Molly smiled sadly from the opposite end of the table.

"Yesterday was insane, wasn't it, Fred?" said George, buttering his piece of toast.

After swallowing a mouthful of eggs, Fred said, "Indeed, George!"

Ron and Harry ate quietly as the others talked. They were both anxious to get to Diagon Alley.

Suddenly, Mr. Weasley held his head. "Oh! I'd forgotten-"

"Arthur, are you okay?" Mrs. Weasley got out of her chair, worried. Her husband motion for her to sit back down. "What's wrong, dear?" she asked, slowly sitting.

"Nothing's wrong," he assured her. "I only remembered that yesterday, during the raid, I managed to shrink our tent. It's in my trouser pocket, in the dirty clothes hamper. All of our things are in there."

"Oh, thank Merlin!" Ginny breathed. The others nodded in agreement. "I took half my wardrobe to the Cup!"

"Girls always pack so much, don't they?" Ron muttered to Harry. Silently, the other boy agreed.

"I'll return it to normal and unload all of our things whilst you all are gone," said Mr. Weasley, cutting a sausage with his knife.

"Will that be safe, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley looked concerned. "I don't want you to wear yourself out performing spells."

"I'll be fine, Molly," Mr. Weasley said, "don't worry."

* * *

Mrs. Weasley and the kids Flooed to Diagon Alley just before nine o'clock. Not so many people were there, Harry realized. Some shops were not even open yet.

First, they went to Gringotts. Mr. Weasley retrieved a small sack of money from their vault as Harry and Hermione gathered their own. Harry had been glad to get away from the goblins.

"They're always so unpleasant!" he told Ginny as they left the bank.

"Yeah, they are. Then again, I know I'd hate working in a bank," she said.

"And being a goblin," Harry had added, causing her to grin.

"That, too."

Mrs. Weasley led them to a street corner, reviewing their lists and making a plan. "We'll get text books first," she decided, flipping through the papers. "Fred, George, Ron, you all have robes, correct?"

The three freckled boys nodded as they kicked a pebble on the sidewalk.

"Yes, Mum," said one of the twins, kicking the pebble to Ron.

"Aw, you hit my shin, George!" Ron hissed, rubbing his leg.

Scowling, Mrs. Weasley reprimanded them. "Boys! Stop that," she scolded.

"Sorry, Mum."

"Ginny, you need a robe," Mrs. Weasley said, making a note on one of the lists. "Harry, Hermione? What about you, dears?"

"I do, Mrs. Weasley. Mine are too short," Hermione answered, wrapping her coat tighter as a breeze blew by.

As he adjusted the strap of his 'Go Bulgaria!' cap, Harry said, "I do, as well."

Nodding, Mrs. Weasley said, "We'll go to Madame Malkin's first. What shops are near there? Does anyone know?"

"Oh! The place that sells quills and ink," Ginny answered. "It is right next door."

"Ah, right, Gin." Mrs. Weasley turned to the twins. "Will you two be all right to get all of the writing supplies, boys? Ronald, you could go with them."

George said, "Of course, Mum."

Fred nodded. "We'll be fine."

Mrs. Weasley tucked the school supply lists away in her purse. "Good. Let's go, then. We'll be right next door if you need us," she said. She counted a handful of coins, picked a few, and handed them to Fred. "This should cover ours."

Harry and Hermione both gave Fred a few sickles.

"Thanks," Hermione said, smiling.

"Absolutely, Miss Hermione," said George. "We'll be sure to find you the finest quill in all of Diagon Alley.

Hermione nodded, her smile growing. "I'd appreciate it very much."

"We'll get good stuff," Ron assured, going to his brothers' side.

"Okay, kids. Let's get moving."

Chatting and whispering to each other, the kids followed the round-faced Mrs. Weasley as she guided them through the streets.

* * *

By ten thirty, everyone had gotten everything they needed for the new school year. Presently, they sat outside of Ollivanders, holding their bags and looking through their new supplies.

Ron and Harry had found a copy of the _Daily Prophet _lying on the ground under a bench. They each took a section of the paper, reading as they waited for Mrs. Weasley to get ready to leave. Ron had taken the Sporting section, leaving Harry to read about last night's raid.

"Merlin! Harry, look at this!" Ron shoved his section into his friend's hands quickly, pointing at an article. "It's about Wood!"

Curiously, Harry looked at a photo of Oliver Wood, donning his Puddlemere United keeper gear.

"Wood? D'you mean Oliver Wood?" Fred asked, coming over. George and the girls followed.

"Yeah," Ron said. "He was at the raid yesterday. Got hurt, apparently."

Eyes still on the paper, Harry told them, "A slicing hex hit his leg, and he's broken an arm."

"Will he still be starting in the first match?" George asked, swinging his bag back and forth.

Harry read a bit more, then replied, "Puddlemere's manager says that they're not sure, yet. They don't know if his arm will heal in time."

"Oh, that's a pity."

"That's rotten luck, that is."

Meanwhile, Hermione was reading the front page. "It says here that 33 people have died since yesterday's attack. Dozens are still hospitalized, many in critical condition."

Harry swallowed. A lump was forming in his throat. Ginny realized something was wrong.

"Harry?" she said softly, so the others could not hear. "You okay?"

Sighing, Harry looked away, feeling slightly ashamed. "Well..."

"Yes?" she persisted.

"If it wasn't for me... I mean, if I hadn't been there, Voldemort wouldn't have made the Death Eaters attack, and all those people, they wouldn't have died."

Frowning, Ginny took his hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. Harry met her gaze.

"You can't help who you are, Harry," she told him softly. "You didn't choose to be born as the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry would not listen, and started, "But if I hadn't been at the Cup-"

Ginny cut him off. "It wasn't your fault, Harry," she insisted. "Okay? You're not to blame, You-Know-Who is!"

Silently, Harry stood with his hair blowing in the wind, watching a family of wizards cross the street. Turning back to her, he squeezed her hand, giving her a tiny smile.

* * *

A/N: I think this is probably my quickest update ever. Seriously, it is amazing how quickly I got this on-line:D Wow. Anyway, thanks for reading! Please review! 


	17. The Hogwarts Express

Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter.

You reviewers are so cool. I really appreciate your feedback. You all keep me motivated to continue! Thanks!!!

__

"Destination Unknown"

by Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 17: The Hogwarts Express

* * *

Four days later, they were on their way to Hogwarts.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Harry sprang up out of his seat, pulling a brown, corduroy sack out of his pocket. He turned to Ron and Hermione, who were sharing the compartment with him. "Do you two want something?" he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Please." Hermione nodded, and was about to hand him her money, when Harry shook his head.

"I'm buying," he told them. "What would you two like?"

Reluctantly, Hermione put her money away. "Um... I'd like some of those sugar free gummy phoenixes."

Nose wrinkled, Ron said, "Those things are horrible!"

"They're better for your health, Ronald," Hermione argued, with a scowl. "And your teeth!" she added. "You know my parents are dentists! They'd have a fit if I ate sugary candy."

"But... your parents aren't here! They're not monitoring you or anything," Ron told her before turning to Harry. "Would you get me chocolate frog or two, mate?"

Harry nodded. "Sure. I'll be right back."

Clutching his money tightly in his hands, Harry exited their train compartment. A plump, bespectacled lady with frizzy hair stood behind a trolley, filled with a mountain of candy and sweets. When she spotted him, she smiled.

Brightly, she asked, "Anything off the trolley, dear?"

"Yes, madam. I'd like two chocolate frogs," he told her, "one pack of those gummy phoenixes... oh! The sugar free kind, please," he added quickly.

"Are you on a diet, dear?" the trolley lady asked, baffled. "But you're so thin! Are you sure you want the sugar free gummies?"

Red-faced, Harry mumbled, "Yes, ma'am."

"Anything else?" she asked, putting the candies in a paper bag.

"Um..." Harry looked up and down at all the colorful treats, biting his cheek. "Yes, could I have a pack of Cauldron Candy?"

"Of course." The kind lady added the total easily, and, looking up through her thick, red glasses, said, "That'll be three sickles, please."

Harry found three of the silver coins, exchanging them for his purchase.

"There you are, dear."

Harry smiled politely. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, entering the compartment he shared with his friends. He took his seat with Ron, pouring the candy out of the paper bag. "Right, here are your frogs, Ron, and your phoenix gummies, 'Mione."

Together, the Golden Trio ate. Ron watched Harry open his pack of Caldron Candy, grimacing. "Mate, you're the only person on the entire planet who eats that stuff, you know."

Harry rolled his green eyes. "I'm not, Ron. I'm sure there are others who share my sophisticated taste."

"Actually," Hermione said, swallowing the head of one of her candy phoenixes, "Ron's probably right."

Shrugging, Harry smirked. "More for me, then."

The three Gryffindors started when a sheepish boy asked, with a thick Liverpudlian accent, "Um... 'ello. S'there room for one more 'ere?"

Craning his neck, Harry spotted a thin, gawky looking boy, who sported Hufflepuff robes.

The boy had messy, dark brown hair that fell just past his earlobes. His eyes were hazel, and his nose was long and appeared as though it had been broken once.

Harry and his friends exchanged looks. Hermione was the one who answered. She said, with a smile, "Sure."

The boy smiled back, obviously relieved. "Thanks," he said, entering the compartment. He shut the door behind him, before seating himself next to Hermione. He missed the slight glare Ron gave him as he sat his canvas bag down by his feet.

"I've been up'n down the whole train," he told them, sighing. "Not a single, empty seat but this one."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I can believe it."

"What's your name?" Hermione asked, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.

"Oh! Sorry. I've gone soft, forgetting to introduce m'self." The boy shook his head. "Anyway, I'm Bryan Burwell."

"I'm Hermione Granger," the bushy-haired girl said, extending her hand. Bryan shook it firmly.

With a forced smile, Ron introduced himself. "Ron Weasley."

Harry turned to Bryan, shaking his hand. "I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

Bryan's eyes widened, as Harry had expected them to. "Wow... 's really you! Blimey, you look different in person."

Harry only nodded, rubbing the back of his head.

"You must be from Liverpool, aye?" Ron asked, opening his first chocolate frog.

Grinning, Bryan nodded. "Aye, I am. With this accent, I'd have to be, yeah?"

The others laughed. "So, you're a Hufflepuff?" Harry asked, still smiling.

"Yeah. This'll be me second year at Hogwarts."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You transferred, then?"

"Yeah, last year from the Wizarding Academy of Wales. It's in a little wizarding town, near Cardiff."

"Oh, I've read about that school!" Hermione cried, excited. "It's tiny, isn't?"

Bryan nodded. "Yeah, 's about two hundred kids each year. Las' year, I'd only 'round sixteen others in me year."

"Sixteen others?" Ron asked, his clear-blue eyes large. "Wow... we have loads more at Hogwarts!"

"Yeah, I know," Bryan chuckled. "Took awhile to get used to 'em all. They're all pretty nice, though."

"Except the Slytherins," said Ron.

Hermione scowled. "Ron! Not all Slytherins are bad. In fact, there's this one guy, Paul. He's in our year. He's really nice!"

"Sounds like someone's in love," Ron muttered, crossing his arms. Harry could see the jealousy in the redhead's eyes.

"Ronald!" Hermione cried, her face red. "I certainly am not!"

As Hermione and Ron bickered, Harry and Bryan discussed their professors.

"Well, I think Professor Sprout is me favorite," Bryan told him, "but I quite like McGonagall, as well."

"Yeah, McGonagall's brilliant, just incredibly strict."

Bryan nodded. "That's like Snape. Sometimes, he's a bleeding bastard, but other times, I think he's wicked."

"As in evil?"

Laughing, the Hufflepuff said, "No! As in, he's a great professor. He's loads better than the one I had in Wales, Professor Rutherford. He was awful. Daft bloke."

"Are you serious? You like Snape?" Harry couldn't believe him.

"Yes."

"He's mad!" Harry thought to himself. "Snape's always been awful to me," he told the other. "Insults my dad all the time." 

"Does he really?" Bryan asked. At Harry's sharp nod, he shrugged. "He must be different with your group."

"He must be," Harry agreed, feeling bitter. Snape hated him, and he hated Snape. Snape was a _bastard_. How could this Bryan Burwell possibly like the man?

* * *

It was late when the students arrived at the front steps of Hogwarts. Harry, Hermione, and Ron had shared a carriage up to the castle. Bryan had spotted his friend, Cedric Diggory, as he was getting off the train, and had disappeared into a crowd of Hufflepuffs after bidding the Golden Trio good-bye. 

"He was nice," Hermione said as they entered the Great Hall that evening, preparing for the Sorting.

Harry agreed, "He was all right. Except for the whole liking Snape thing. That's sort of nutty, don't you think?"

"No, I don't think it's nutty. I think Professor Snape is... stern," Hermione said, "but he's a brilliant man, you know, Harry."

They went to the Gryffindors' bench, spotting all of their other friends. "Hi, Seamus," Ron said as they passed by.

The light-haired, Irish boy smiled up at the three where he was seated. "Hey, guys. Have a nice summer?"

"Yeah, pretty nice. Mum just gave us loads of chores, and then there was all that school work!" Ron leaned closer Seamus, glancing at Hermione as she sat next to Ginny and Katie Bell. "Between you and me, I actually haven't finished it all yet," Ron whispered.

Seamus gasped incredulously, and Harry snorted. "Are you kiddin', Weasley?" Seamus asked.

"No, I've gotta finish tonight."

Harry sat down, still listening to the pair. He saw Seamus grin lopsidedly. "Truth be told, I'm not finished either, Weasley. I have to finish that Transfiguration paper. Did you have trouble with it?"

Ron took his seat next to Harry, beside Seamus. "Yeah. Actually, that's the only work I've got left to do. Did you have any trouble with it, Harry?"

Shaking his head, Harry replied, "No, not really. I thought it was kind of simple."

"So you're finished with all your work, then, Potter?" Seamus asked.

"Yeah, I've been done with it for a week or two, now."

"Merlin, I wish I'd finished already," Seamus groaned. Just then, a group first years was led into the Great Hall by Professor McGonagall.

"Wow, look how tiny they are!" Ron said as they watched.

Harry couldn't believe that he once was that small. "They are," he answered. "There's not so many this year, are there?"

"Nah, I'd say there's about twenty, there," Seamus replied, craning his neck so he could see the first years.

"Hopefully, it won't take so long," Ron said. "It seemed to last forever last year."

Harry and the others watched the Sorting with particularly bored expressions on their faces. They perked up a little when a first year was sorted into Gryfinndor, clapping with the others. But Harry found himself watching the professors the most though out the night. Once or twice, he caught Snape's eye. The man would sneer slightly, before turning his attention back to the Sorting.

"This'll be a fun year," Harry thought with a sigh.

* * *

A/N: Finally, they're at Hogwarts! I'm so glad to have finally gotten them there. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed reading the chapter. It shouldn't be long before Harry and the other person receive those packages, now. 

Please, review:)


	18. A Gaping Snape

Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter... dash it all...

Again, thank you, so, so, so, so, so, so, SO much! You all are so wonderful. I can't believe how many views I get for each chapter. It's unbelievable. And the number of reviews I've received, I really can't believe how many I've gotten. All of them are wonderful. I hope you all continue enjoying my story. :)

__

"Destination Unknown"

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 18: A Gaping Snape

* * *

The first few weeks of the school year passed quite quickly. Harry, Ron, and Ginny threw Hermione a little birthday party in the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry and Ron had sneaked into the kitchens that night, taking a small, round carrot cake with them. The bizarre house elf, Dobby, had iced the cake white, and even had written "Happy Birthday, Hermione!" on the little cake with pink icing. The four friends celebrated in the corner of the Common Room late at night, around eleven thirty. Hermione received small gifts from them all; a friendship bracelet from Ginny, a calendar of her favorite muggle actor, Johnny Depp, from Harry, and a stationary set from Ron. The three made a card themselves, decorating it in shades pink, purple, and yellow using colored pencils they borrowed from a first year Gryffindor called Abby Piper. 

Their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was scary. Professor Moody. He was a peculiar man, who was missing a chunk of his nose. He had loads of scars. He looked... rough. Harry had a bad feeling when he was around the man.

A week after the Sorting Ceremony, Dumbledore announced that a tournament was to be held at Hogwarts.

"The Triwizard tournament," the Headmaster had said, "is a dangerous competition. It requires strength, courage, intelligence. Only the bravest will chosen. Those who wish to enter must write their names on a slip of paper, and put it into the Triwizard Cup. The tournament is open to those who are seventeen and above." At this, students expressed their outrage.

"It's unfair!"

"Seventeen?!"

The Weasley twins had roared, "That's rubbish!"

Headmaster Dumbledore silenced them, explaining that these were the rules, and that they must abide by them. That had not helped the younger students hurt any, though.

Harry wasn't disappointed in the least. He certainly did not want to enter this Triwizard tournament. He had enough on his plate already. What, with quidditch practice, school work, the odd detention here and there... no, he wanted nothing to with it.

Other kids did. Those who were not yet of age were breaking their backs, trying to find a way around the age line that Dumbledore had produced around the Triwizard Cup. Draco Malfoy tried crumpling up his paper into a ball and tossing it over the line, but it bounced off the trophy each time, refusing to enter the inside. Seamus Finnigan tried leaping over the age-line, but was sent backwards every time, landing roughly onto his back. The Weasley twins almost succeeded in crossing the line, but even _they_ were unable to enter.

Day after day, the younger students watched those who were old enough to enter put their names into the Cup.

"I wish I could enter," Ron would grumble as they watched in the afternoon. "I'd love to have that trophy. Not to mention the money I could win!"

Harry would shake his head. "I think it's mental! I've read about this before. The last Triwizard Tournament was held back in the seventeen hundreds! They put an end to them because so many people died competing!"

"It sounds incredibly dangerous," Hermione agreed. "I don't understand why anyone would want to enter."

One afternoon, after classes, Harry spotted Bryan Burwell on a bench, looking at the Cup.

"Hello, Bryan," he said.

The brown-haired boy looked up, smiling slightly. "Oh, 'ello there, Harry!"

Harry gestured to the bench. "D'you mind?"

Bryan shook his head, scooting over a little. "Not at all. 'ave a seat."

Harry did, sitting his school bag down at his feet. "So what do you think about this Triwizard Cup?" he asked, rolling his sleeves up.

With a shrug, Bryan said, "I dunno, really. It seems sorta cool, y'know, but... at the same time..."

"You'd have to be mad to enter, yeah?"

"Exactly me point!" Bryan laughed. "Yes, yes... it's madness, it is. Actually, me friend, Cedric Diggory, he entered today. 's off his bloody rocker, if you ask me."

Kicking his foot absently, Harry nodded. "I know Diggory a little. He and his father traveled with us, the Weasleys, Hermione, and me, I mean, to the Quidditch World Cup this summer."

Bryan bobbled his head up and down. "Yeah, Cedric mentioned that! I wish I'd been able to go. Was goin' to, actually."

"What stopped you, then?" Harry asked, watching a tall, dark Durmstrang student enter his name into the Cup.

"Me little sister, Molly. She'd been sick, and gave me some virus days before the game."

"Oh, really?"

Bryan nodded, rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah," he sighed. "I was really, really ill for 'bout a fortnight. 's awful, it was."

"That's bloody rotten luck," Harry told him.

"Yeah, anyway... so you got to go?" Bryan asked.

Harry nodded, sitting up straight. "I had a time getting permission to go, from my relatives. But..." Harry paused to think. He didn't want to talk about Vernon. "Eventually, they gave in," he decided on. That wasn't giving anything away about his summer.

"Ah, well, me parents would've let me go, but for me being ill... I still got to listen to it on the radio, though." Bryan shrugged, frowning.

"Maybe you'll get to go next year," Harry said. "It's loads of fun."

"Yeah, and hopefully England'll make it to the finals, aye?" Bryan grinned.

Smiling, the green-eyed boy replied, "Hopefully, yeah."

* * *

Harry hadn't noticed how long he'd been gone from the Dursleys. "Almost a month now," he realized. 

And he still hadn't written to them.

"They must hate me."

Before he went to bed one Saturday, he grabbed his best quill and a spare piece of parchment, and began to write.

"Dear Aunt Petunia and Dudley,

I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to reply. I realise it's been nearly a month. School and things have kept me really busy."

It was awkward, writing a letter to his aunt and cousin. He would have never thought before this summer that he'd actually be taking the time to write to _them_.

"I hope things are going well in Little Whinging. You haven't heard from Uncle Vernon, have you? I hope he stays away. Has he gone to court yet? By now, surely he has been.

Dudley, you must tell me how the Premier League table looks! Where is Chelsea? Way above Tottenham, I bet."

What should he tell his aunt? This felt so odd...

"Aunt Petunia..."

Harry thought a moment. "Uh... my marks... I'll tell her about my marks."

"I'm doing really well at school. I am receiving pretty high marks in all of my classes. Even in my least favourite subject, potions, I'm doing well in. Potions is a lot like chemistry, really. My professor, Professor Snape, is really foul-tempered. He does not like me much, and I'm really not sure what I did to him, but he hates me for it.

Again, I hope everything is fine, and that things have gotten better for you both. Maybe I will visit on Christmas break?

Sincerely,

Harry"

After reading it five or six times, Harry was satisfied. He'd go to the Owlery in the morning to send it off.

* * *

"Can you believe that? Those two against Krum?" Ron huffed. 

The three Triwizard Champions' names had just been chosen. Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts, Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons, and Viktor Krum of Durmstrang.

"Look at that!"

"Oi, another name just popped out!"

Dumbldore slowly turned back to the trophy, eyes narrowed. Several professors stood, confused. Barty Crouch turned to them, and they chatted vehemently among themselves.

The elderly headmaster slowly approached the Triwizard Cup, and hesitated before snatching the floating paper in the air.

It shouldn't be difficult to understand why Harry was so flabbergasted when Dumbledore announced the name on the scrap of paper.

"HARRY POTTER!" the Headmaster hollered, clearly upset.

Harry couldn't move. He couldn't _breathe_. He hadn't entered!

The Great Hall was completely silent for several long moments. Then, the whispers started.

"There can't be four champions. There's always three!"

"What the bloody hell?"

"Cheater!"

Harry sank down on the bench_. "What on earth..." _he wondered.

He and everyone else in the Hall jumped when Headmaster Dumbledore bellowed, once more, "Harry Potter!"

Harry shook his head. _"I want to die..." _

"Harry Potter, come here this instant!"

"Bugger all! No... how... bollocks! Why me? Kill me now..."

"HARRY POTTER!"

"Damn it..."

Slowly, Harry stood up, trying desperately to ignore the stunned, angry looks directed at him.

The Great Hall had never seemed so big. It seemed to take ages to reach the Head Table, where Dumbledore stood. The professors sat still, eyes on him. Their jaws were all hanging open. Even _Snape_ was gaping, and Snape _never_ gaped.

* * *

A/N: I'd sure hate to be Harry. God knows, I'd faint. 

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you'll take a moment to review. It means a lot to me, knowing what you all think of my story. Thanks! Happy Holidays!


	19. Misery

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter. _Still. _

I honestly can't believe how many people are reading this! I remember when I first started (a _year_ ago now!), and I had a few views here and there, but now I have some fantastic, wonderful, faithful readers! Thank you all so much! It means the world to me, knowing that other people are enjoying my work.

__

"Destination Unknown"

By Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 19: Misery

* * *

Harry was miserable.

"I'm _miserable_!" he groaned, as he and the twins were at Quidditch practice the second Monday of October. "I don't even know how this happened. I didn't put my name in the bloody cup!"

The three walked to the Quidditch Pitch, dressed in their gear as they dragged their brooms along.

Wind ruffling his ginger hair, Fred said, "We believe you, Harry."

George nodded, tugging a loose thread on his shirt. "Yep."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, his feet uncomfortable in his shoes that were too small. "I just can't believe I have to get some egg from a dragon... a _dragon_! Can you believe it?"

The twins shook their heads. "No," they answered in unison.

"Yeah..." Harry said, "me neither. I think Dumbledore, Bagman, Crouch, the whole lot of them are loony."

"D'you know how you're going to get the egg yet?" George asked.

With a shake of his head, Harry replied, "Haven't a clue."

Fred and George shared a look. "Well," Fred started, moving his eyes from his brother to Harry, "Why not use your broom?"

"Yeah," George said, "fly 'round that bastardly dragon!"

"Get that egg!"

A wrinkle in his forehead, the youngest boy said, "But we're not allowed to bring anything but our wands with us!"

The twins glanced at one another once more, nodding. "Have you ever heard of the _accio _spell, Harry?"

Frowning, Harry said, "No."

George smiled. "Oh, young Harry," he sighed.

"We've so much to teach you!" Fred finished, patting Harry's shoulder.

Stepping over a lumpy tree root, Harry asked, "What does this _accio _do?"

"It brings things to you. For example." George pulled his wand from his knee-high Quidditch socks.

They were almost to the pitch, and Harry could see Katie Bell pulling off her school shoes, preparing to put on her boots. George spotted her, too, and, and pointing in the blonde girl's direction, cried, "_Accio_ _boots_!"

Harry gasped when the girl's boots came flying toward them, and had to dodge one of them. A furious Katie Bell then screamed, "Fred! George! Harry! Which ever one of you did that, give my boots back!"

"Sorry, Katie!" Fred said, picking the boots up from the grass.

"It had to be done!" George explained. "For the sake of young Harry's education."

Katie leapt up, walking over to the three boys. "Well... use your own stuff next time." She turned to Fred. "My boots, please."

"Of course, madam," Fred said, bowing he gave her the boots.

The girl rolled her eyes, though she was obviously amused. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

Katie balanced on one foot, stepping in her left boot. She did then the same for her right.

"Right, then, the others are waiting in the pitch," Katie told them. "Remember, today we're looking for a new keeper, now that Oliver's gone."

Harry was surprised. "Oh, Rourke isn't playing this year?"

Katie shrugged. "I told him that since Oliver graduated, that he could now be the starting keeper, instead of a substitute, but he said no."

"Wow, I'd think he'd want it," Harry said, as they all started toward the pitch.

"Apparently not," Fred said. "So we'll have to start all over, then?"

Clearly, Katie wasn't too excited about searching for a new keeper. "Yep," she answered shortly.

George sighed. "Oh, joy."

* * *

Harry was exhausted.

"I'm _exhausted_!" he said as he flopped onto his bed that night. Harry took his glasses off, placing them on the shelf above his bed. "Fourteen kids tried out for keeper, and only two of them were decent. Two fifth years, Simon King and Janis Redwood. Redwood is an ace keeper, she's incredible, but Katie fancies King, so she'll probably choose him."

Only he and Ron were in the Boy's Dorm. They were both in their pajamas, their hair still wet from their showers.

Ron didn't respond. Instead, he climbed into his bed, not even acknowledging his friend.

"Ron? What's the matter?"

Harry waited, until finally, Ron muttered, "Nothing. I'm just tired."

Harry wasn't convinced.

"Are you sure, mate?" he asked, concerned.

Sharply, Ron said, "Yes." The older boy rolled onto his side, his back to Harry. "Good night."

Harry stared at Ron's back, confused. Quietly, after a second or two, he mumbled, "'Night," and faced the wall, closing his eyes.

* * *

When Harry woke the next morning for breakfast, he found that Ron had already left. Seamus and Neville were still sleeping.

Dean Thomas, who was sitting on his bed, fixing his tie, saw that Harry was awake. "Oh, g'morning, Harry," he said, smiling.

"Good morning, Dean." Harry sat up, rubbing his face tiredly. "Say, Dean?"

"Uh-huh," Dean yawned, covering his mouth.

"Have you seen Ron?"

Dean inclined his head. "Yeah," he said, "he got up early today. Said he was going to take a walk before breakfast."

Harry rose his eyebrows, surprised. "He did?" he asked, rolling off his bed.

Getting off his own bed, Dean replied, "Yeah. Why? Is something wrong?"

"I dunno." Harry pulled his blanket over his sheets, smoothing the wrinkles out. He told Dean, "Ron's been acting weird."

The other Gryffindor's eyes narrowed. "He seemed fine this morning. Acted his usual self."

"Really?" At Dean's nod, Harry said, "He barely spoke a word to me last night."

"Maybe he's mad?" Dean guessed, shrugging slightly.

"Well... if he is, I don't know what I did to upset him." Harry sighed, bending down and opening his trunk. He tossed around a few things, before pulling out some trousers and a long-sleeved, white shirt. "I'll talk to Hermione at breakfast. She might know something."

Dean nodded, picking up his school bag. "Yeah, I hope everything works out."

Harry smiled slightly. "Thanks, Dean. See you 'round."

"Yeah, see you later, Harry," the dark boy said, leaving the dorm.

Sighing, Harry went into the washroom to prepare for the day.

* * *

The Great Hall was half-full when Harry arrived. Students from various houses were scattered about, seated at their proper tables. Harry waded his way through groups of chatting girls and clusters of boys in scuffles.

He was very glad to reach Hermione at the Gryffindor table, reviewing her school work for the fifth time that morning.

"Hey, 'Mione," he said as he sat down next to her. She looked up, through her long, wild hair, and smiled.

"Good morning, Harry," she greeted, scooting over to make room. Harry graciously took the seat.

"Thanks," he said, pulling a plate in front of him. He spotted a basket of bagels, and grabbed one. "Have you seen Ron?" he asked, cutting his bagel into halves.

Hermione closed her Transfiguration text, shaking her head. "Not since last night, no."

Harry buttered one half of the bagel, before biting into it. After swallowing, he continued, "How did he act last night?"

Eyebrow cocked, Hermione answered, "Well, he seemed to act like he usually does. Why? Is something the matter?" Her expression was now one of concern.

Slowly, he gave her a nod. "Yeah, I think he's angry with me."

"Angry with you? Why?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know why. It's just, last night, when we were going to bed, he barely talked to me. He seemed upset. Then, this morning, he woke up before me-"

"Are you saying _Ronald Weasley _woke up _early_?" she said in disbelief.

Grinning, Harry told her, "He did! I talked to Dean Thomas earlier, and he said that Ron had woken up early, to take a walk before breakfast."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Harry finished his bagel, pushing his plate to the side. "I'm almost worried, but I'm afraid if I try to find him, he'll just... I dunno, snap at me or something."

Hermione nodded, then turned to him. "Well, maybe I have an idea... Harry, do you think he's jealous?"

"Jealous? Who of?" His jaw dropped. "Me?"

"Yes, of you. I mean, since you're a Triwizard Champion, now. Ron wanted to be a competitor really badly, you know. I think he may be jealous."

"But I don't even want to be apart of it!" Harry argued. "I didn't put my name in the ruddy cup. I don't who did."

"Maybe Ron thinks you found a way 'round the age line and didn't tell him?"

"I would've told him, though. He should know that."

"Well, you know that Ron can be kind of thick-headed sometimes."

He sighed. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Don't worry, Harry. I'm sure he'll come to his senses soon."

"I hope so."

Hermione nodded. Then, after a moment, she said, "Well... I've got some good news." She smiled when Harry perked up.

"Yes? What is it?" he asked, curious.

"Well, I was in the library last night, researching something for charms class, and I happened upon this one book. It's ancient, probably dates back to the 1200s!"

Leaning forward anxiously, Harry prodded, "Yeah? And?"

"I've found a spell that can be used to detect masking charms."

"Brilliant!" Harry breathed, grinning. "You'll use it on me, right? To see if there's a charm?"

"Yeah, but we'll have to do it some place where no one will see us."

Harry thought a moment. "There's that empty class room near McGonagall's office."

"No, I know the perfect place!"

"Where?"

She said, "We'll use Myrtle's lavatory!

"That'll be perfect. Okay, so when should we do it?" he asked, wiping a few crumbs off his trousers.

"Will after dinner be okay? You don't have Quidditch practice tonight, right?"

"No, not tonight," he told her. "After dinner should be fine."

Hermione stood up, smoothing her skirt down. "Sounds like a plan, then," she said, picking her bag up.

Harry got to his feet, as well, and shouldered his school bag. "Yeah. Well, I've got Divination."

Nodding, she said, "I'll see you at Potions, then!", before making her way down to the door.

* * *

A/N: I hope everyone's enjoyed the holidays! I know I did, but I have to admit, I'm glad that they're over. The next chapter is almost ready, so there shouldn't be a long wait.

Thanks!


	20. Aperio

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Seriously.

Thank you so much for the reviews! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

__

"Destination Unknown"

by Shakespeare's Sister 92

Chapter 20: Aperio

* * *

That evening found Harry waiting outside the Great Hall for Hermione. He'd been waiting four minutes now. 

While he was waiting, he decided to give _'accio'_ a try. "What do I want?" he asked himself quietly. Looking back at the Great Hall, he said, "_Accio Pumpkin Pasty_!"

He waited several long moments. Had he not pronounced it right?

He raised his wand again, preparing for a second try, when a young Hufflepuff ran out of the Hall, clutching the back of her head. Harry did not know what was wrong with her, until he saw the creamy dessert dripping from the girl's braids. Red-faced, he watched her run up the stairs, presumably to her common room.

The Great Hall doors opened once more, this time revealing Hermione, who looked rather flustered.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" Harry asked, crossing the distance between them.

Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah, I guess. The strangest thing just happened though."

He suspected he already knew what that thing was. "What happened?"

Eyebrows raised, Hermione said, "Well, pumpkin pasties just started flying everywhere! No one quite knows what caused it. A girl at the Hufflepuff table was hit, and I think Professor Snape was hit, too."

Stunned, Harry breathed, "Snape was hit?"

A smile creeping onto her face, Hermione nodded. "Yeah. It's pretty funny, actually."

'I hit Snape!' Harry thought happily. "Wow... I wish I'd seen that! I reckon he's furious, isn't he?" 

"Oh, yes, I think so! Harry, it was so funny! But... whoever did it is really... immature, but... they have an excellent sense of humor! Some kids laughed, even a few Slytherins. He stormed out one of the side doors."

Harry grinned so widely, his face almost hurt. Tears blurred his vision as he laughed. "I always miss things like this! I'd pay to have seen that."

"Yeah, it completely made my day, really." Hermione rubbed her face, trying to calm herself down. Sighing, she looked at Harry. "Are you ready to try this spell?"

Still smiling, Harry nodded. "I'm ready."

* * *

Harry and Hermione arrived at Moaning Myrtle's lavatory twelve minutes later. 

Myrtle squealed when she saw Harry.

"Ooh, Harry Potter! It has been ever so long since we last met!" she squeaked, hovering above the fourth stall on the right.

Reluctantly, Harry put on a smile, and said, "Hi, Myrtle."

"Hello, Myrtle," Hermione said shortly as she dragged Harry to the last stall in the room, pulling him inside. Harry only just stopped himself from falling into the toilet.

"I don't fancy sitting inside a toilet, 'Mione," he muttered, scowling a little.

Hermione pulled her hair back, tucking her bangs behind her ears. "Sorry... I suppose I'm just anxious."

Harry nodded, smoothing his shirt. "Yeah, I am, as well." He then asked, "Is the spell simple?"

"Quite. It should reveal any charms or disguise that has been placed on you. If there is one, I mean." Hermione found her wand, twisting her hands around it. "I've practiced is some, and the movement is pretty easy. It should work."

"So, you say the spell, and if there's a charm, it will disappear, and reveal what I really look like?"

"Yes."

"What'll happen if there is no charm? Will nothing happen, or...?"

"According to the book, a light will come from my wand, and it will either be blue or red. Blue if there is one, and it will remove the charm, or red if there is no charm. It won't do anything, then."

"Oh, all right." Harry smiled nervously.

Hermione looked at him, eyebrows raised. Excitedly, she asked, "Are you ready, then?"

After a deep breath, he slowly nodded, his black hair bouncing. "Ready."

"Okay." Hermione steadied her wand, pointing it at Harry. "_Aperio_!"

A bright light flashed, startling them both. Then, a blue stream of light flowed from the tip of the bushy-haired girl's wand. She watched, her brown eyes huge, as the light gathered around Harry.

Harry was very uncomfortable. The stream of blue light surrounding him was bright, and he squinted his eyes tightly. A strange sensation spread through his body. He yelped when it settled in his legs.

"Oh my..." Hermione gasped when the boy's legs grew, as the clear blue sheet of light encased his body. She could see most of his socks now, which were usually hidden by his trousers. "Harry, it's amazing!"

Wincing, Harry felt his feet grow, cramped painfully in his shoes. He felt the spell move up his body, to his head.

"My god, Harry, are you okay?" Hermione asked frantically. She moved closer to him. "I, Harry, can I do anything?"

Suddenly, Harry clutched his right ear. The pain was sharp, and he couldn't help the whimper that escaped him.

Just as quickly as the pain had come, it went, and Harry collapsed to the hard, tile floor, holding his head.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione fell to her knees, carefully taking one of her friend's hands. "Are you all right? Let me see, Harry."

Shaking his head, Harry held his head, trying to shake the dizzy feeling away. He slowly sat up, uncovering his face, but still holding his right ear. After a moment, he sighed, meeting Hermione's worried gaze.

"Are you okay, Harry?" she asked, frowning. "That looked awful!"

"Yeah... yeah, I'm all right," he answered, rubbing his shoulder. He twisted the fabric of his robes as he asked, "Do I look any different?"

Hermione studied her friend carefully, and eventually nodded. "Your hair is longer, I think, and a little redder than before. And you're definitely taller, because I saw your legs grow. It was the strangest thing, Harry. It really was. Oh, look, your face looks thinner!"

"It was bloody painful, that's what it was," Harry grumbled, finally releasing his ear. He sighed when the girl gaped at him. "What's wrong, 'Mione?"

The older teen bit her lip, attempting to hide a smile. "Oh, you aren't going to believe this..."

Harry began to panic. What was wrong with him? "Hermione, what are you talking about?" he asked again, jumping up into a standing position.

Hermione moved out of his way, allowing him to run by her, to the row of mirrors near the lavatory entrance. He leaned against one sink, resting his sweating palms on either side of its porcelain. Hurriedly, he fixed his glasses, and stared at the mirror.

"Hermione, what the bloody hell have you done to me?!" he yelped.

Hermione could only laugh.

From above, Myrtle giggled. "Harry Potter! Your ears are different sizes!"

* * *

A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was fun to write. Please, tell me how you liked it! Thanks for reading. 


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